


Bar Hopping

by volleybabes



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Background, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Time Skip, Reader-Insert, Shameless Smut, Smut, Vaginal Sex, doesn't use y/n, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:41:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 88,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28791153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volleybabes/pseuds/volleybabes
Summary: A collection of smutty reader insert fics in which "you" meet the Haikyuu! boys in a bar.No use of (F/N), (L/N), or (Y/N).Reader will have an "established" background that changes depending on the fic.All fics will be post-time skip.Currently updating every Saturday.Happy reading :)
Relationships: Azumane Asahi/Reader, Haikyuu!! Ensemble/Reader, Hinata Shouyou/Reader, Kuroo Tetsurou/Reader, Meian Shuugo/Reader, Miya Osamu/Reader, Sakusa Kiyoomi/Reader, Sawamura Daichi/Reader, Sugawara Koushi/Reader, Takeda Ittetsu/Reader, Yamaguchi Tadashi/Reader
Comments: 69
Kudos: 198





	1. Three Times (Asahi Azumane/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> told from asahi's pov so this chapter uses "she" instead of "you"  
> past!asanoya  
> it's 11k words because i have no control over my life

The first time he sees her, he thinks it might be fate. 

What are the chances that she would also be at the same bar, at the same time, on the same day? 

Asahi will be the first to admit he is lonely. Living and working in Tokyo is a dream, one he had willingly jumped into after high school. After graduating from university, he’d landed a job as an apparel designer in the big city—but that meant he was still separated from his hometown in Miyagi.

He’d thrown himself into work, gained some recognition and well wishes from his new bosses, made a few acquaintances and drinking buddies. But his two best friends still have lives back in their old town and it’s hard to see them in person. The last time had been the Black Jackal and Adlers game when they’d all met up for the first time in a long time. He’d missed the Olympics, thanks to traveling to Egypt with Nishinoya. Then his birthday had come and gone, and now he hasn’t seen Suga, Daichi, or Noya in a long time. 

Not that he really wants to see Noya, not after the way they had left things. 

So one particularly cold night in February, sitting in his cozy one room apartment, papers and pencils spread out before him, he texts Suga and Daichi. _Can you make it for a weekend?_ he asks, and upon their confirmation, sets a date for the end of March, when Suga has a small break before the new school year. 

It’s nice to see his two friends again, and they greet each other with tight hugs and lop-sided smiles. They visit a few places for sight-seeing, then go to a small bar by his apartment to catch up. 

That’s when he sees her for the first time. 

Her tinkling laugh is the first thing he hears when he opens the door to the bar. There aren’t many patrons, so it’s impossible to miss the group of four girls at a table in front of them. She doesn’t look up when they walk in, nor when they choose a small table close to their left. But he can see she is a foreigner; he hears excited English mixed in with fluent Japanese as she tells an animated story that makes her friends laugh. 

“So any new collections coming out?” Suga asks after a swig of his beer, pulling Asahi’s attention away from the group. 

“In the planning stages,” he shrugs. “I have some ideas, but I’m not sure the bosses will like them, you know?”

“You worry too much,” Daichi jokes. 

“Our negative goatee always did,” Suga adds.

“Thanks guys,” Asahi deadpans, making his two friends laugh.

Daichi finishes his beer and signals to the hostess for another before he asks, “Any more plans to travel with Noya?”

_Noya_. He tries not to show his discomfort at the mention of the libero. Asahi gives what he hopes is another casual shoulder shrug, but the cold glass in his hand is suddenly slippery and he has to set it down. 

“Not that I know of, but you know Nishinoya. Always moving around.”

“That does sound like him,” Daichi laughs and thankfully changes the subject to something else. But Suga’s knowing eyes land on him for a split second before they flit away to listen to Daichi’s story about his police work. 

He can’t tell them that he hasn’t spoken to Nishinoya since he left Egypt. Since they went their separate ways for good. Or is it for good? That thought plagues him during his loneliest nights at his apartment, when he only has the white noise of a TV and the pictures documenting the still fresh memories.

It’s an hour later when she approaches. There’s a lull in conversation and a refill for his drink, but she slips to their table instead of the server. 

“Excuse me,” she tentatively says. Her laugh isn’t the only thing that tinkles. Her voice is a strange mix of soothing, but commanding enough to catch all of their attention. “Can I sit down?”

“Er,” Suga ruffles the back of his shaggy silver hair, giving them all glances.

“I promise it’ll only take a moment.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Daichi answers instead. 

With a thank you, she takes the empty seat to his right, between him and Suga. Asahi has a good look at her now. Average height, average build, but there is something in her face that keeps her from looking average at all. Maybe it’s the smile that lights her face, or the way her eyes sparkle as she glances between the three of them. 

She checks on her three friends then immediately launches into her (very rehearsed, he can tell) favor. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but today is my friend’s birthday,” she explains, pointing over to her table. “The girl with the long black hair in the bun, do you see her?” Then she looks directly at him, and Asahi thinks he might be blinded for a moment with her teasing grin. “It doesn’t hold a candle to your hair, though.”

“I, uh, thank you?” he lamely responds. He can feel his cheeks tint the fainted shade of pink.

“Anyway,” her eyes bounce to Daichi. “Her name is Akihiko, and she’s wondering if you’re single because she thinks you’re very handsome.”

Asahi doesn’t know if Daichi’s eyes can grow even wider at her words. He looks like a deer in the headlights, and Asahi has to hide a laugh behind a fist. It’s a rare occurrence to see their old captain speechless. 

Suga speaks up in his stead, “He is very much single and interested!”

“Wait, wait—”

“Wonderful!” the girl smiles and slides a piece of paper in front of the now-policeman. “This is her number. She’s too shy to come talk to you herself, but she is really nice.” An embarrassed call of her name, and the girl stands up with another dazzling smile. “Call her, you won’t regret it.”

_Regret_. Thinking back, Asahi has regrets. He should have asked her name. Should have talked to her. Asked her to stay and have a drink with them. Told her he wishes he had even an ounce of the confidence she did in that moment.

Luckily, fate works in funny ways. 

*

The second time he sees her, it’s a coincidence. 

About a week later, he stands in front of the Tokyo Metropolitan Art Museum, much too bundled up on a rare warm March day. He came during the morning when he figured not many people would be around, but he is surrounded by tourists and families and daycares on field trips. After he buys a ticket, he passes one of the daycare groups and hears a childish ‘scary’! He deflates. He’d worn his hair in a loose bun, even put on his glasses this morning to look as casual as possible! It isn’t his fault that he has the face he does. 

Near the entrance of the museum is when he hears that tinkling voice again. 

“Excuse me!”

And there she stands, looking cute even in her work outfit. Her hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, and there’s a lanyard around her neck that signals her job as a tour guide. She’s smiling at him as if she can’t believe her luck.

“I didn’t expect to see you here!” she puts a hand on her hip as she looks up at him. In her kitten heels, she still only comes to his eye level. “How are you?”

He didn’t expect her to recognize him, so he stutters for an answer as he scratches the back of his head. “I’m alright, I guess.”

“Are you interested in art?”

“Sorry?”

Her pretty eyelashes flutter underneath her glasses. “I mean, you’re at an art museum, right?”

“Oh, right,” he laughs awkwardly. “I’m here for inspiration for my clothing line.”

“Inspiration?” she cocks her head at his answer. But then she’s smiling again, enough that her eyes disappear. “Then you came to the right place. Oh, I never did catch your name.”

“Asahi Azumane. You?”

She tells him her name and he thinks, _that matches you perfectly_. A cute name for a cute girl. 

“I heard from Akihiko,” she tells him. It takes a moment for Asahi to remember that Akihiko is her friend from the bar. “Apparently her and your friend... Daichi-san? Really hit it off.”

“Did they?” 

“She’s going to meet him in Sendai this weekend for a second date.”

Asahi doesn’t know what comes over him. He’s a nervous wreck, both inside and out. He blames the sweat gathering at his brow on the heat from the lobby. But something, _something_ , possesses him to blurt out, “What about us?”

Her nose wrinkles with confusion. “Us?”

“I, well.” _Shit_. He’s painted himself into a corner. All of his fake confidence flies out the window as soon as she blinks at him.

Thank God she is more forward than he is. She saves him with a quiet, “Are you asking me on a date?”

“Only if you’re interested,” he rushes to answer. He can feel the heat on his face, the nervous twitch in his fingers. 

She doesn’t answer directly. She holds her hand out to him and smiles, but this one is shy, bashful. It’s cute. “I can’t have my phone on me, but I’ll give you my number, if that’s okay?”

That’s more than okay. If she notices the speed in which he fishes his phone out of his back pocket, she doesn’t mention it. 

*

The third time he sees her, he knows for sure that he likes her.

They agree to meet at Ueno Park after work ends for the both of them so they can get dinner and walk around looking at the early cherry blossoms. 

She gets there before he does, a message from “Art Cutie” alerting him to her arrival. 

He finds her standing in front of the outdoor stage, and he stops walking as soon as he sees her. She’s dressed in a long-sleeved green dress decorated with cherry blossoms, just like the ones she stands under. She’s nervous, he can tell, because she clutches the small purse at her side, her eyes looking back and forth through the crowds of people to find him. And as soon as she does, she lifts a hand to greet him, calling _Azumane-san_! with that smile of hers. 

She’s so pretty. So pretty that it takes him a second to remember how to walk, remember how to greet when he approaches with a mumbled, “Sorry I’m late.”

“You’re not late,” she laughs. Is she breathless because she’s as nervous as he is? “I’m early because I was too excited.”

“Y-you were?” he stutters, then berates himself for sounding like a giddy high schooler again. 

She nods her answer and quickly glances to the crowd walking around them. There’s a color in her cheeks that’s unmistakable. “Do you want to walk around the lake?” she asks, and he readily agrees. 

She’s so easy to talk to. She tells him about how she came to Japan during middle school thanks to her father, about how she’s a Japanese citizen now, how she graduated from The University of Tokyo in art studies. He tells her about his high school experience, how they went to Nationals during his third year with their ragtag volleyball team, about how he left the comfort of home to make it on his own here in Tokyo. 

“Were your friends at the bar from the team too?” she asks, picking at the katsudon she ordered for dinner. 

“Yeah, Daichi was the captain and Suga was the vice captain.”

“No wonder,” she giggles. “You’re all so… tall.”

“Do all tall people have to play sports?” he jokes back with her. 

“If all the tall people play sports, then all the short lazy people like me can sit on the couch without feeling bad. So maybe I should thank you for doing the work for me!”

It makes him laugh. It’s so easy to joke with her, to laugh with her. He hasn’t found it this easy to talk with anyone he liked since…

_Noya_. Why is he thinking of him now?

The girl sitting in front of him flashes him a shy smile, and he can barely hear her say, “Your laugh is very nice.”

It’s the first he’s ever heard that. It makes him flush.

He’d be an idiot to not ask her on a second date. So he does, and he can’t help his smile when she accepts immediately. 

*

The first time they kiss, it’s barely a brush of lips that makes him feel like he’s going to burst. 

They decide on a weekend date, and they see a late movie before walking through the streets of Akihabara. She listens to him ramble about the fashion he sees on the street, talking about textures and colors and the mix-and-match trends popping up lately. When he asks her a question about it, she sheepishly rubs her left upper arm.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know anything about fashion,” she admits.

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” he fumbles. “Sorry, you don’t have to—”

“No!” she immediately refutes. “I love listening to you. You get so passionate. Please keep talking about it.”

How is he supposed to respond when his heart is thundering in his chest and it feels like he can’t breathe? Her hand brushes against his once, then twice when he doesn’t get the hint. Her fingers are warm when he grabs them and they easily intertwine. Her hands are so small and smooth compared to his, and he relishes the feeling of her thumb against his skin as she strokes his hand. 

He drops her off in front of the JR Station so she can catch the train home before he hops on a different one, but she lingers for longer than their usual goodbye parting. 

“What is it?” he asks when she stares too long.

“Oh, it’s, um,” she flushes, looking down at her feet. It shocks him for some reason. Usually he’s the dopey one, the anxious one who second guesses everything she texts him or says to him on their dates. “Can I… kiss you?”

He wasn’t expecting that. That’s obvious in the way his lips move like a fish out of water trying to breathe.

“It’s alright,” she rushes when he doesn’t answer. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to, I just thought, you know, since we’ve been on a few dates, that maybe…”

“I want to,” he answers. He tries to be firm, but it comes out awkwardly breathless. What the hell is he doing? 

She smiles and stands up on her toes, pressing the faintest kiss to his lips. Her breath is warm from the hot chocolate they had earlier, and her pink lips smell like grapefruit from the lip balm she uses. 

It’s over almost as soon as it begins, and he’s left dazed, even after she leaves with a happy wave and a promise to text him later.

*

  
The second time he kisses her, he gathers the courage to do it himself. 

They’ve been on countless dates now, sent hundreds of messages. But there’s still no clear definition as to what they are. Is she his girlfriend? Are they dating? Exclusive? 

“Just ask her,” Daichi tells him on a phone call when he asks about it. “You like her, don’t you?”

“I do,” he immediately answers. _But_. There’s a but on his tongue that shouldn’t be there. Why is it there? Maybe it’s hidden in the Egypt pictures he hasn’t deleted, in the folder of photos he hides on his phone like a sadist.

“Tell her you want to be her boyfriend. It’s simple.”

_It isn’t simple for me_ , he wants to say, but he thanks Daichi anyway before hanging up.

The questions mount the more they talk. She’s never once asked, _I’m your girlfriend, right_? Never once asked him to clarify where they stand. She’s taking it slow for him, he knows. She’s considerate to a fault, always making sure he’s okay with her requests, that she’s not crossing his boundaries. 

They plan to meet the coming Friday, but by Wednesday, he can’t focus on his work. He’s knee-deep in plans for a new summer line, his phone is pinging with his work group’s texts, and all he can think of is her smile. He wants to see it. Wants to look her in the eye and tell her that he’s her boyfriend, take it or leave it. If Daichi can do it, so can he. 

So he grabs a light spring jacket and speed walks to the train, making it to Ueno before he knows her shift will end. He awkwardly waits outside for her, ignoring the pointed looks of people who pass him, until he sees her coming outside the front door.

“Azumane-san?” 

His name sounds like the trumpet of angels. God, he’s nervous. She’s just as pretty as ever, even at the end of her work day. Her hair is half tied up, showing the small diamond earrings she has on. She reaches him before he’s readied himself to say what he wants to. 

“You didn’t text! What are you doing here?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he says. He’s surprised he sounds so calm when inside he’s running lap after lap, like he used to when he missed a bunch of spikes and wanted to burn off some steam. “I want to ask you something.”

“What is it?”

He practiced the entire way here. On the train, he ran through what he wanted to say. While he waited for her on the steps, he rehearsed it. It was going to be perfect. 

But nothing is ever perfect.

“I’m your boyfriend,” he tells her. Doesn’t ask her. _Tells_ her. God, he’s an idiot. 

She stares at him for a beat before she laughs. A deep-bellied laugh that makes her cheeks red as she tries to stifle herself. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she says between giggles. “I’ve been telling my friends you’re my boyfriend for a few weeks now. I thought you knew?”

“Well, no,” he can’t help but laugh himself. He should have asked a while ago. “But, um, that’s great.” He doesn’t know what else to say. He rocks on his feet before holding up his hand. “Then I’ll text you later?”

“Is my _boyfriend_ going to leave without a kiss?” she teases him, a sly smile on her face. 

She has him. She knows it too. He gets a surge of confidence like he did when he first asked her on a date. Like he’d gotten when on the volleyball court after he’d come back to be the ace again, after Noya had—

He steps forward and lightly cups her cheek, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to her lips. It’s a ghost of a kiss, just like their first, but this time, she isn’t leaving. She leans into him, her fingers lightly against his jacket-covered chest. Her eyes are closed, her lips parted, and he kisses her again. And again and again, like she is the coffee he needs every morning, like she is a cold beer on a hot summer day. Her lips are soft and warm, and he can taste grapefruit again when he pulls back. 

She doesn’t open her eyes right away, but when she does, she’s looking at him as if he’s the only one around.

“Walk me to the station?” she offers.

He gladly accepts the hand she holds out.

*

  
The third time he kisses her, it’s hard to stop. 

Tokyo is in the middle of a heatwave, much too early in the summer for it. It’s barely July, but his air conditioning has been running nonstop for a few days now. He dreads seeing his electric bill when it comes in a few weeks. 

Just before dinner on a Thursday, his phone rings with her call. 

“I have a favor to ask of you,” she says as soon as he picks up. She sounds a bit reluctant. “My aircon broke and they can’t come until tomorrow to fix it. So, um, could I possibly…?”

_Come over?_ His eyes immediately dart around his messy room. He isn’t an overly dirty person but he’s been working hard on additions to the summer line, and there’s papers, clothes, and takeout boxes all over the floor.

“Do you, uh, need to spend the night?”

“If that’s okay,” she breathes, and he curses the way his heart jumps. She hasn’t been to his apartment yet. He’s been to hers exactly twice—once to pick her up when she was running late and once for a dinner that ended as quickly as it started. This is new territory for him. 

“Yeah, sure,” he sounds way more calm than he feels. “I’ll send you the address.”

She shows up half-an-hour later, just in time too, because he just finished organizing his house the minute before she knocks. 

“Hi,” he lamely offers in English when he opens the door.

“Hello,” she giggles and nods her head, holding up the grocery bag in her hand. “I brought you a gift?”

“I’ll take anything you give me,” he admits and means every word of it.

She makes mixed rice, and they eat it together in front of his TV, watching a rerun of the Adlers and Black Jackal game he kept saved on his cable box for the past year. Even when Asahi tells her they can watch something else if she’s bored, she refuses. Her eyes haven’t left the screen once since he’s turned it on.

“That one, with the different colored jersey,” she points to the screen where Inunaki makes a save. “He’s the libero, right? The defensive player?”

“Yeah, that’s him. How did you know?”

He can see her cheeks tint the slightest pink but he doesn’t mention it to save her the embarrassment. 

“You love volleyball but I didn’t know anything about it, so I did some research,” she tells him.

His heart nearly jumps out of his chest. “You did that for me?”

“Of course! I don’t want to look like an idiot,” she laughs and laughs, though he’s not sure if it’s out of nervousness or in response to her own joke.

He tells her about how Hinata and Kageyama helped him come back to the Karasuno team, how they faced off with Ushijima and actually beat him in his final year, talks about practicing with and playing against Bokuto and Kuroo and the others.

“Him?!” she exclaims when Ushijima spikes a particularly hard ball that scores a point. “You played against that guy and won?”

“Yeah, the match was insane,” he gushes. “We were probably going to lose until Nishinoya figured out—”

He stops. _Noya_. Why did he bring him up now of all times? She blinks up at him with her spoon hanging from her mouth, waiting for him to finish.

“—Figured out how to receive his left-handed spikes.”

“Was Nishinoya Karasuno’s libero?”

He doesn’t want to talk about Noya. He wants to tell her to drop it. He wants to tell her exactly who Noya is to him. He wants to pretend Noya doesn’t exist to haunt him. He wants to tell her his best guarded secret. 

He swallows, nods, pretends his hands aren’t shaking. “Yeah, that was him. He could have probably gone pro, but he’s traveling the world right now. I actually went to Egypt with him last year.”

At least it’s the truth. 

“Egypt!” she exclaims in excitement. “I’ve always wanted to travel, but I haven’t had the money. I want to go to Paris and see The Louvre the most. I would die to see all the art there. The Mona Lisa in person?”

He lets her ramble about art, watching her eyes light up as she talks about artists and painting and whatever else. He’s content to watch her, watch the way her lips haven’t stopped smiling, the way she twirls her spoon around like a maestro conducting a symphony as she talks, the way she laments her lack of extra funds with the cutest pout.

“Oh,” she suddenly pauses with a laugh. “Sorry, I talked too much, you must be—”

He doesn’t let her finish. In the background, the announcers are yelling about a great defensive play by the Adlers, someone is cheering, the crowd is roaring. But he’s more interested in the feeling of her lips on his again, the warmth that spreads through his cold body at the contact. She leans into him, tilting her head so she can push closer, her fingers squeezing his upper arm. That’s what gives him the courage to grab onto her waist and tug her into his lap.

She squeaks as she looks down at him, her breathing slightly labored, her eyes slightly wider than normal. “Hi,” she says in the quietest English ever. It makes him smile.

“Hello,” he responds in kind before capturing her lips again.

She tastes like a mixture of their dinner and her grapefruit lip balm, but he isn’t complaining. Not with the way her hands tighten in his shirt and the way she presses closer to him like she can’t get enough. And neither can he. His fingers run through her hair, tugging it out of the loose ponytail she has it in. Her locks cascade around her shoulders and make her look like one of the paintings she enthusiastically talked about earlier.

They don’t say anything. They don’t have to. Their kisses do all the talking for them. 

  
  


*

The first time they sleep together, it’s a near disaster. 

After the aircon incident, they’ve been much more liberal with visiting each other’s houses. On the weekend, she’ll usually come over and watch him work, happy to read a book or magazine while he finishes up some drawings. She cooks for him, humming a song under her breath as she listens to music and dances around the kitchen. She tells him about patrons to the museum, he tells her about his co-workers. The apartment is full of laughs and love, something he’s sorely been missing.

“Oh, did Daichi-san tell you?” she asks as she does the dishes. “Akihiko is moving to Sendai in August.”

“What, really?” Asahi raises an eyebrow as he dries the dishes and puts them away for her. “He didn’t tell me anything.”

“Maybe he’s embarrassed,” she giggles, wiping her hands on a towel now that she’s finished. “But it’s all she can talk about lately.” Then her voice pitches higher in an attempt to re-create her friend’s tone. “Daichi-san is so cool~ Someday he’ll be police chief~”

He laughs at that, turning to her when he’s finished himself. “What about you, are you looking for a cool boyfriend?”

“I’m perfectly content with the one I have right now, thank you.”

“So you’re saying I’m not cool,” he jokes, unable to hide his smile when her eyes widen at him.

“That’s not what I meant!” she groans in jest, a weak fist playfully hitting his chest. “And you know it.”

“I know, I know, sorry,” he smiles and grabs her arm, tugging her against his chest. She looks up at him with her bright eyes and even brighter smile, and he thinks he’d go to the ends of the Earth to keep it on her face.

“Azumane-san,” she begins to say, but he cuts her off.

“Asahi.”

“What?”

“Call me Asahi,” he urges. He doesn’t know where it comes from.

“ _Asahi_ ,” she whispers in return, sounding like she’s trying out the name for herself. She stares up at him in wonder. “Kiss me, Asahi.”

So he does. 

There’s something different about this one. There’s an urgency when she presses up against him, and a stirring in his stomach that hasn’t been there before. Her arms wrap around his shoulders to keep him close, not that he wants to pull away. His arms practically crush her against him, running over her back and dipping further than he has before.

When he brushes over her butt on accident, she lets out the faintest groan, and he’s lost. He picks her up and wraps her legs around his waist, carrying her to the bedroom as best he can. He has to give her credit; she clings to him and not once breaks their kiss as he takes her there. It’s only when he gently sets her down on his bed and hovers over her does she break away for a breath.

“Is this okay?” he asks quietly, afraid anything louder will break the spell she has on him. 

“It’s perfect,” she admits just as softly.

He doesn’t kiss her again. Instead his lips move to her cheek, to her jaw, to her neck, where he licks and bites until she’s letting out soft sounds that light his body aflame. But there’s also something else running through his body—the soft thrum of anxiety that gets louder when she squirms underneath him. He hasn’t done this much, not for a long time. He’s less-than-experienced and it shows in the hesitation of his fingers over the buttons on her blouse.

He shakes his head, popping open button after button until her bra-covered chest is bare for him. Her bra is a plain nude that clasps in the front, and she lets out a breathy laugh in embarrassment. 

“If I would have known…” she says, placing a hand over her mouth.

“I don’t care,” he answers as his fingers fumble to undo the clasp. “You’re beautiful anyway.”

She lets out a mewl of happiness that turns into a mewl of pleasure as soon as he envelops a nipple in his mouth. His fingers roll the other nipple between them before he switches, earning him another happy sigh. Her fingers tug on the shoulders of his shirt and he pulls away, tugging the maroon fabric over his head.

“Wow,” she breathes. He lets her run her fingers over his chest, lets her dance her way down to his abs before she clings to his side. “You’re gorgeous.”

He stutters a response that makes her laugh and sit up on her elbow to kiss him again. She’s so intoxicating, his senses overwhelmed with her, and all Asahi can think is— _why am I not getting hard?_

His hands are shaking now and she can tell immediately. She pulls away from him with a worried look as she holds onto him.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m sorry— I’m sorry,” he chants, burying his nose in her neck. “It’s not you, I promise it’s not you, it’s just that I haven’t done this—” _With a woman in a long time_ , he almost says. Almost. Instead he finishes with only, “In a long time. I’m too nervous.”

“Asahi,” she coos, fingers pushing his hair behind his ear. He lifts his head slightly to look at her. “It’s okay. We don’t have to. We can take it slowly.”

He doesn’t deserve her. He really doesn’t. 

She doesn’t put her shirt back on. Instead she shrugs out of her blouse and bra, then beckons him forward with a light tap to the bed next to her. He rolls off of her and cuddles up next to her, enjoying the warmth of her body pressed against his, loving the feeling of her nipples pressed against his chest. 

“I really like you,” she whispers into his chest, and he hopes her heart is going as crazy as his.

“I do too.”

When she leaves, he’s going to research all the ways he can make her feel good, because she deserves it.

  
  


*

The second time they sleep together, it’s like sparks fly. 

It’s the end of July, so tonight’s dinner is a cold soba that is much more delicious that it has any right to be. They talk over dinner, watch a movie cuddled up together. When she goes into the kitchen for a drink, he watches the way her short skirt swishes as she walks. He’s following her before he knows it, enveloping her from behind without thinking.

“Asahi?” she giggles, clutching the bottle of cola to her chest as she leans into him. “What are you doing?”

“What I want to,” he mumbles into her hair. 

That fire is back again, deep-seated and burning in his veins. His fingers run over her exposed thighs, and her breath hitches when his lips brush over her sweaty neck. He whispers her name and it makes her press back into him, her butt grinding against him.

There’s no issue this time. He’s already half-hard just from touching her briefly, his breath already warm against her cheek as she turns her head to look at him. His lips claim hers, and she tries to turn around but he won’t let her. He maneuvers them to the counter next to the fridge and she grabs hold of it, breathlessly whispering his name as his fingers ghost over her panties. 

“Can I touch you?” he asks, and any nervous thoughts disappear as soon as she enthusiastically nods yes.

He kisses her again, and her lips part as if on command, allowing him inside. As soon as their tongues touch, she groans, fingers squeezing the counter even tighter. She gasps against his lips when his fingers dip inside her panties and run over her slit, and he’s surprised to find she’s already a bit wet from just his teasing.

With his thumb and middle finger, he spreads her as best he can, and she pushes back against him as soon as his pointer finger runs over her clit. He dips his finger into her slick and uses it as lubrication to run slow circles over the nub, his teeth nipping at the back of her neck. The sounds she makes go straight to his cock, little mutters of _just a little lower, oh that feels so good, faster please._

He makes sure the finger he pushes into her is slow, but she’s so tight around his digit that it makes him groan. His movements are languid until there’s almost no resistance, then he pushes a second finger into her. It draws a whine from her and she pushes back against him, grinding against his now-hard dick, making them both moan. 

He speeds up his fingers, thumb brushing over her clit to force more sounds out of her. He loves it, loves hearing her mewls and cries, loves the way her walls clench around him when he bites down on her shoulder. 

“A little more,” she gasps, and who is he to deny her? 

He speeds up to match the way she’s riding his fingers, and that’s when she comes undone. She shudders against him, fingernails tapping against the counter as she rides out her orgasm. His name is like a prayer on her lips, and if he wasn’t ready to take her before, he definitely is now.

He gives her a moment of rest before taking his fingers out, his hands hovering over the skirt on her hips.

“Is it okay if I…?” he questions.

Her eyes meet his and it takes his breath away. Her cheeks are flushed, her smile is blissful, and her pupils are dilated with lust. _Lust_. For him and him only.

“Please fuck me,” she whispers. There’s an unspoken addition: _Only if you’re ready_.

“Hold on,” he begs and runs into the living room, nervous fingers digging around in his bookshelf for the condoms he threw there almost a year ago. He checks the expiration date—still good, thankfully—and when he comes back to the kitchen, her skirt and panties are on the floor next to her. She’s still bent over against the counter, and there’s a playful smile on her lips that makes him grin stupidly. 

“Do you want some help?” she motions with her head to his pants. 

He’s still fully dressed and there’s a part of his brain that yells, _your first time shouldn’t be in the kitchen_ , but the irrational part is too focused on how sexy she looks bent over for him like that.

“No, no,” he stutters, unbuttoning his pants and pushing them and his boxers down in one motion. He kicks them away and rips open the condom, rolling it onto his dick with unpracticed hands. 

When he grabs her hips and lines himself up, she spreads her legs even more for him. The squeeze makes his head go fuzzy, the pleasure makes his body shiver. She’s so tight and warm, and the gasp she gives when he bottoms out is downright sinful. He takes it slow the first few strokes, but the way she squeezes him is too much and he can’t stop himself from moving faster. 

The kitchen rings with the sound of their skin slapping together, her pleasured moans, his grunts. His fingers hold onto her hips as he pulls her back against him to thrust, tingling in his body letting him know he won’t last much longer.

“Say my name,” he begs her as he leans forward, pressing hasty kisses to the back of her neck. 

“Asahi, please,” she immediately answers, one of her hands reaching back to grab the back of his thigh. She digs her nails into his soft flesh as she whines, “It feels so good, Asahi, don’t stop.”

It’s his undoing. His thrusts become more erratic until he slams into her one last time, choking out a moan of her name as he fills the condom with his cum. 

They’re both breathing heavily, and he rests his head against her back, arms wrapped around her waist to keep her standing. They stay like that for a moment until he begins to pull away, but her hand on his thigh makes him pause.

“Just another minute like this,” she asks of him.

He laughs and peppers kisses along the shirt still covering her back, relishing the feeling of her against him. 

If only he could feel it all the time. 

*

The first time he lies to her, it’s a small white lie. 

The end of August brings a fall lineup for his job that keeps him busy well into the night. That’s why he misses his phone pinging a few times, too engrossed in a video call with his co-workers, talking and drafting designs.

When they finally end the call and he gets a break, he checks his phone. Three missed text messages. One from Suga, one from _My Art Cutie_ , and one from… Noya?

He stares at the name on his screen, finger hovering over the message. He should delete it. He knows he should. But he can’t. He ignores it and the painful pounding of his heart, opening Suga’s message first. 

_Suga_ [17:54]: Nishinoya says he’s back in Japan for a little bit. He wants to meet up in Tokyo this weekend. Do you have time?

Noya is back in Japan? How long has it been since he’s stepped foot in his homeland, since he’s come back to say hello? Asahi doesn’t know how to answer. 

He clicks the message from his girlfriend and curses under his breath. 

_My Art Cutie_ [18:34]: You’ve been working so hard lately, Asahi! Do you want to meet this weekend? ^~^ My treat!

He’s caught between a rock and a hard place. He opens Noya’s message last. 

_Noya_ [19:20]: It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I’m back in Japan for the time being. Meet me for drinks this weekend! 

It’s not a question, but a demand. Noya hasn’t changed at all. He should say no. Stay home and cuddle his girlfriend, beat the heat by watching bad movies and laughing at them over ice cream. 

But he doesn’t. 

To Noya he sends, “Yep, tell me time and place and I’ll be there.”

To My Art Cutie he sends, “I’m sorry, I’m swamped with work this weekend (Ｔ▽Ｔ) Can we meet next week?”

To Suga he sends, “Can’t wait to see you guys again.”

He throws his phone on the sofa next to him and covers his eyes with his hand. It’s nothing more than a meeting between friends, catching up after a long time. He won’t think about it. Won’t think about the fight he and Noya had that killed their relationship. Won’t think about the last kiss they shared the night before that fight, when Asahi thought everything was okay. Won’t think about the pictures _still_ on his phone. 

The weekend can’t pass soon enough. 

*

The second time he lies to her, it eats him up inside. 

Nishinoya is staying in Japan until the end of the year, he says over another drink. They’ve met a few times alone since the first meeting with Suga and Daichi. They haven’t talked about their parting and have skirted around the reason for their awkward lulls when conversation dies down.

Today they meet at a dimly lit restaurant that is more romantic than casual and it makes him pause at the door. He doesn’t want to think too much about it. He has a girlfriend, he reminds himself. A girlfriend he hasn’t told Noya about, who has surely texted him by now. He hasn’t answered. 

They talk about Noya’s travels, where he’s going to next, what’s on the agenda. They talk about volleyball, and high school memories, and their old friends with new lives. 

At the end of his first glass of beer, Noya switches topics. 

“Have _you_ thought about traveling again?” the ex-libero asks. His eyes are sharp, watching Asahi’s reaction over his half-empty glass. There’s an unspoken, _with me_. 

“Unsure,” Asahi answers honestly. The wall behind Noya is suddenly very interesting. “I have a good life here. I couldn’t travel like you do.”

“Well, I had fun in Egypt with you.”

Asahi takes a deep breath. _Yeah, until our breakup_ , he wants to say. He wants to press more. They were a good fit with bad circumstances. If Noya had come home to settle down, maybe tried volleyball again, where would they be now? Asahi had begged for him to do that and Noya had been harsh with his rejection. _My life isn’t only volleyball anymore_ , he spat then. _I have other dreams now and I’m not giving them up for you._

Other dreams without him. Other dreams that didn’t include Asahi in the long run. It had led to their parting, their lack of communication for almost a year now. Noya had been clear their relationship was over. So why was Asahi still hung up on it?

“Yeah,” Asahi answers, and that’s that. 

When he checks his phone later after he gets home, his girlfriend has texted him four times without an answer. 

_My Art Cutie_ [18:32]: Are you on your way?

 _My Art Cutie_ [19:01]: Asahi? Is everything okay?

 _My Art Cutie_ [19:22]: You must be really busy! We can reschedule if that’s okay.

 _My Art Cutie_ [20:42]: Message me when you see this, please…

_Shit_. He’d been so wrapped up in dinner with Noya that he forgot about dinner with her. He feels so bad, so guilty, enough that it brings tears to his eyes. She doesn’t deserve how much he had been canceling on her lately. Doesn’t deserve his indecisiveness. Doesn’t deserve his lies.

He immediately messages back.

“ _I’m sorry cutie! I fell asleep and just woke up now. （◞‸◟） Can we reschedule for tomorrow? I promise I’ll make it_.”

His phone pings with her answer a few minutes later but he can’t bring himself to look at it. 

*

The third time he lies to her is the last. 

The weather has finally broken, the fall bringing a nice breeze and beautiful foliage. The izakaya he and Noya go to is off of Ueno Station. _I shouldn’t have canceled on her_ , he thinks as he heads inside. He told her he had to work late to crunch for a new addition to the fall line. He can’t bring himself to tell the truth. 

He’s canceled on her a few times in the last couple weeks and he knows she’s becoming upset with him. Her messages are never outright mean or dismissive, but her answers are shorter and she isn’t texting as much. 

It’s killing him inside. He wants her love, wants her affection even when he isn’t giving it back 100%. It’s selfish. _He’s_ selfish. He doesn’t want to mess up, but he keeps canceling and meeting his ex-boyfriend anyway. Pathetic.

He arrives first and fiddles with his phone. The last message he got from his girl said she would meet with her friends for a drink, _but I miss you! Dinner with you would be more fun_. His finger hovers over her name. He wants to call her. Cancel with Noya. But he closes her message, only to get a call from Suga in the next moment. 

“Hey Suga, what’s up?” It’s rare for his friend to call when texts are frequent enough. 

“Hey, you with Noya?”

The question throws him off. How did he know? Yuu must have mentioned it. “We’re meeting for dinner, yeah.”

“Does your girlfriend know?”

_Know_? He freezes. The heat of the izakaya suddenly seems overwhelming. His phone threatens to fall out of his hand. “What do you mean?”

“Asahi,” Suga sounds so disappointed. He’d always been perceptive. Too perceptive for his own good. Asahi remembers the quick flick of eyes at the bar when he’d first met his girlfriend, the quiet acknowledgement that he _knows_. 

“I—well,” he stutters. He doesn’t know what to say. 

“She’s going to find out sooner or later. She should hear it from you.”

“There’s nothing to tell, Suga.”

Suga lets out a heavy sigh, “Then why are you lying to her about it?”

The question stings. Why _is_ he lying about it? There should be nothing bad about it, so why hasn’t he said anything? Why does he keep canceling to meet his ex-boyfriend instead? He is the worst. The fleeting thought that maybe he doesn’t deserve to be in a relationship hits him. He keeps hurting those close to him with his choices. 

In his silence, Suga clears his throat. “I’ll let you go. Let me know what happens.”

“Thanks, Suga,” Asahi mumbles before the line goes dead. 

He doesn’t have time to stew in his thoughts. Noya comes into the izakaya with a “yo!” and an excited grin at seeing his friend. They shoot the shit for a couple hours, sharing a few drinks that make his head swim. Noya is leaning into him more and more as they drink, a hand on his knee, a brush of their shoulders. And Asahi isn’t rejecting him—why isn’t he rejecting him? 

“Come with me to Europe at least once,” Noya says after his third drink. There’s a color in his cheeks that signals his tipsiness. It reminds him of his girlfriend’s flush at seeing him, the happy smile she gives him after she kisses him. God, his head is a disaster.

“Where in Europe?” he asks when he remembers to speak. 

“I think Spain first, since I’ve been to Italy. Then maybe Portugal. They have good beach volleyball there—”

He doesn’t hear the rest of Noya’s sentence. 

The only thing he hears is a quiet, “Asahi?” 

His girlfriend stands behind him, her friend to her right’s eyes flicking between him and his art cutie. His heart breaks at the look on her face. Confused, hurt… betrayed? He leans away from Noya (when did he lean in in the first place?) and stands up from his chair. 

“Hey,” he offers. He wants to reach out and grab her hand. Explain everything to her. The words are on his lips. Why can’t he say them? “What are you doing here?”

“What are _you_ doing here?” Her eyes flit to Noya’s for a second and recognition makes her eyes widen. She knows who he is, probably recognizes him from old photos he’s shown her from his high school days. “You said you had to work.”

He doesn’t answer. How can he? He’s been caught in a lie, a big one that obviously hurt her. He can’t breathe. His head swims with more than the alcohol running through his system. It’s his worst nightmare come to life. 

“Hey, who is this?” Noya asks with a bright smile. Is he oblivious to the tension or trying to make it better? “She’s pretty!”

“She’s my girlfriend,” he immediately answers. He’s not looking at Noya. He’s looking at the sadness that takes over her face, that makes her lips quirk into a strained smile. 

“Am I?” she whispers. She grabs hold of her friend’s arm and turns to leave. 

“Wait cutie, don’t go,” Asahi pleads, but she doesn’t listen to him. She exits the izakaya without saying anything else to him. 

He wants the ground to swallow him whole. But it doesn’t. The bar keeps talking as if his pain wasn’t on full display, his life isn’t exploding around him. 

“Asahi, hey,” Noya says, setting a hand on his shoulder. “What was that?”

“I didn’t—” He’s crying now. When’s the last time he cried? Probably Egypt, with the guy whose hand is still on his shoulder. “I didn’t explain to her. She doesn’t know about us. She doesn’t know I’ve been meeting you. Shit, I have to talk to her. I have to tell her.”

“Hey man, calm down,” Noya tries to soothe him. “Sit down. We can talk about it.”

“Talk about what?” he demands. His voice carries in the restaurant and earns him a look from the chef behind the bar. He apologizes with a bow of his head and grows quieter. “What are we, Noya? Why do you keep wanting to meet me?”

“You’re my friend, Asahi,” Noya’s face has taken a hard edge, one he hasn’t seen since Egypt. “But that’s it. I thought we resolved that in Egypt. Our relationship is over.”

“Then why do you keep leaning into me? Putting your hand on my knee?”

“I do that with everyone,” Noya explains. It hurts Asahi to admit he’s right. Noya has always been affectionate with his friends, especially with drinks. That’s how their relationship started in the first place. 

“Have you moved on?” Asahi asks shakily. 

Noya is staring up at him, and Asahi can’t see anything in their depths. He’s out of his element. There’s so many thoughts running through his head, but the one that sticks out is one he can’t shake. _Say yes._ That’s what he wants to hear. _Yes._

“I have,” Noya answers. Firmly. Definitively. 

It feels like there’s a weight off his shoulders. A year later and he finally knows. He is free. 

“I’m sorry, Noya, I have to go.”

Nishinoya doesn’t stop him as Asahi runs out of the izakaya, frantically dialing his girlfriend to no avail. 

*

The first time he apologizes to her, she doesn’t forgive him. 

Not that he expects her to.

It takes incessant phone calls and texts until she finally answers three days later. 

_My Art Cutie_ [12:07]: I’ll come over later to talk.

He can’t focus on work all day, not that he’s been able to for the last three days. He knows what he wants to say to her. Knows that he has to apologize until his voice goes raw and his tears dry up. He even writes a letter to make sure he hits everything he wants to say, but the gist of it is, _Please forgive me. Please. I need you_.

She swings by that night at 7PM, giving the faintest knock on his door. He throws it open immediately. 

She looks as awful as he feels, dark circles under her eyes, her tired eyes matching his. She doesn’t say anything as she brushes past him to take a seat on the sofa. The last time she was on the couch, he had bent her over the side, whispering how beautiful she looked as he took her from behind. He shakes away the thought. _Now is not the time_. 

She’s looking at him, waiting for him to start speaking. His mouth is dry, his hands shaking. If the paper in his pocket was metal, it would have burned his leg with how hot he felt.

The paper is forgotten the minute he gets down on his knees. 

“Asahi,” she breathes out. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes. Over and over, he apologizes for what he’s done. “I should have told you, I shouldn’t have lied.”

“I want an explanation,” she asks of him. Her voice is lined with her unshed tears. 

“Nishinoya is my ex-boyfriend,” he admits. It’s the first time he’s ever said it out loud. With Suga, his friend had just known. With Noya himself, they’d slipped into the roles without ever outlining what it all meant. The words come easily now that it’s been admitted. “We started dating a few years ago, but we broke up last year after our trip to Egypt. He wanted to keep traveling but I wanted to grow my career here.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispers. 

He lifts his head to meet her eye. “I don’t know. I thought…”

“That I wouldn’t understand?”

It’s so hard to say, but Asahi forces the words out anyway. “That I was still in love with him.”

“Are you?”

“No,” he immediately responds. His face is as firm as his answer. “I’m not.”

Her next question is a pained whisper. “Are you in love with me?”

“I—” His throat goes dry. 

“Because I love you. I’ve been wanting to tell you. This isn’t fair to me.” 

She’s crying now and it makes tears spill from his eyes in response. He’s never seen her cry and he hates it. Hates that he’s the cause, hates that he hurt her like this, hates the feeling in the pit of his stomach that’s telling him she won’t forgive him. 

“I know that, I know, I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” she snaps, wiping the tears from her cheeks in anger. She stands from the couch and holds her cardigan close to her chest. “I… I need time, Asahi. You hurt me. You hurt me so much.”

“How…” A pause. “How long do you need?”

“I’m sorry too,” she apologizes for the first time that night. 

She brushes past him while he’s still kneeling on the ground, the slam of his front door ringing in the now silent room. 

*

The second time he apologizes, she doesn’t respond. 

_I’m sorry, cutie_. Unanswered. 

_I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes_. Unanswered.

 _Please let me know when you’re ready_. Unanswered. 

Unanswered. Unanswered. Unanswered. 

He feels like he’s going crazy. 

*

The third time he apologizes is the last time he’ll ever break her trust again. 

It’s been two weeks since then. Two weeks of no contact, two weeks of waiting for an answer, two weeks of staring at his phone, willing just one message to come through.

Suga, Daichi, and Noya have all called, but he isn’t really in the mood to meet or speak with them at all. He knows he needs to get up and be productive. He throws himself into work, letting the designs take his mind off of everything. But the moment he’s done for the day and walks into his apartment again, the silence greets him. 

He’s grown used to her happy laughs, her excited questions about his interests. The warmth of her legs as they drape over his lap during a movie. The way her kisses take his breath away, the way she mewls his name as he thrusts into her. 

He misses the text at first. He wakes up on October Sunday to it. 

_My Art Cutie_ [2:07]: I miss you. 

That’s the only message he receives. 

He stares at it for hours. Long enough that he misses lunch and has to eat something quick in the late afternoon. He knows she works on Sundays. That she will probably be with a group right now, leading them around the art museum. Would her enthusiasm be fake? Is her smile as strained as his? Does her heart hurt as much as his does right now?

He has to know. _Needs_ to know. 

So he’s on the first train he can catch to the art museum, his fingers furiously typing away at his phone, arranging a way to make it up to her. He stands waiting outside like a madman, rehearsing what he’s going to say as soon as he sees her. This time he’s going to get it right. When he’d asked (well, told) her to be his girlfriend, when he’d fumbled their first kiss. Those were practice runs. _Third time’s the charm_ , isn’t that how the proverb goes? This time, he will make it right. 

He waits for a couple hours, until his cheeks are red from the wind and his fingers are too cold to even bend. He texted Suga earlier in his nervousness, asking for his help or words of encouragement, and his friend answered, _Just tell her the truth and it’ll all be okay. I’m rooting for you._ He hopes so for both of their sakes. 

Just after 5PM, he sees her come outside. She stops walking as soon as she sees him, her eyes wide, her lips parting. Is she going to greet him? Is she going to run away? Ignore him? That strange surge of confidence—the same one when he first asked her out—makes him approach her before she can do anything else.

“Hi,” he says in English.

“Hello,” she offers in return. 

They probably look like they’re star-crossed lovers from a B-grade romance movie that the two of them used to laugh at on the weekends. The thought makes the edges of his lips quirk up.

“I want to ask you something.”

“What is it?”

“Do you still love me?”

Her eyes shine, and he can’t tell if it’s from tears or the way the setting sun is reflecting off of her hues. She studies his face like she’s reading one of her books and her hands swing by her sides listlessly. He wants to grab one so badly, but he won’t until she answers. 

“I do,” she whispers. Her eyes haven’t left his. 

“Good, because I love you too,” he admits. Her eyes widen with his confession, and there’s a heat in his cheeks that he ignores. He _practiced_. He isn’t messing up this time. “I love the way you dance around while you’re cooking. I love the way your eyes shine whenever you talk about art. I love when you run your fingers through my hair before we go to sleep and press kisses on my forehead. I love waking up to you in the morning. I love seeing your texts at the start of the day.

“I love you,” he repeats. Firmer. Louder. With more conviction. “I made—” Then he pauses. _A mistake? A decision? My choice_? He fumbles in his back pocket for his phone and pulls it out, showing her his confirmation email. “I made a reservation at Tokyo Skytree for tomorrow. For two people. If you’ll meet me.”

“Asahi,” she sighs in disbelief. A hand comes up and covers her mouth. “I don’t know what to say.”

He reaches out and grabs her hand, bringing it to his lips as he mutters. “Say yes. Please.”

There’s a lull where he thinks she’ll yank her hand away. Where he thinks she’ll turn him down and tell him to move on. Where he thinks she’ll laugh at his confession and tell him to get out of her life for good. 

But she doesn’t do any of these.

“If we’re going to Tokyo Skytree, you’ll have to shave,” she jokes. The hand he is holding breaks free and runs over the scruff that has grown unruly along his jaw. He hasn’t shaved since that night. He hasn’t had the energy.

“You don’t think they’ll let me in like this?” he quips in return. 

“I don’t think even McDonald’s would let you in looking like this,” she laughs. _Her laugh_. Oh, how he missed her laugh.

“Alright, I’ll shave and wear a suit, if that’s what it takes.”

“I’ve never seen you in a suit. I bet you’ll be even more handsome.”

His heart soars. His stomach flips. His head is consumed with everything _her_. They’re going to be alright. 

He leans forward and kisses her, and he feels like he can die happy when she grabs his shirt and pulls him closer. 

*

The third time they sleep together, he knows he’ll never need another.

He’s wearing his best suit, hair pulled back into a tight bun, glasses on, face clean-shaven apart from the small patch on his chin. 

She sits across from him, looking even more beautiful than ever. Tokyo twinkles over 300 stories below them, but he hasn’t taken his eyes off her all night. Her smile is electric, her eyes sultry underneath her gold eyeshadow, her black dress perfectly accenting her body. She must know what she’s doing too, because she gives him the most alluring looks all throughout dinner. They talk about everything and anything—their dreams, their hopes, their fears.

“My biggest dream,” she teases once their dessert is finished. “Is that I can go home with my boyfriend and stay the night.”

Asahi immediately orders the check.

He splurges on a taxi because he can’t keep his hands to himself. Old man driver be damned, but he can’t think of anything except her lips on his, her hands on his body, how much he wants to be inside her at this very moment. 

They barely make it into his apartment before she shimmies out of her dress, leaving her in a matching lilac lingerie set that makes his heart race. He kisses her until he can’t breathe, then he pulls back and kisses her again and again until she tugs his hair out of his bun and begins trailing kisses down his neck.

“I was right, you know,” she whispers into his burning skin. “You’re so sexy in your suit.”

He groans against her shoulder, dragging her bra strap down with his teeth. “If you say things like that, I’m going to go crazy.”

Her hands push at his suit jacket and he shrugs it off, letting it pool at his feet. His button-up black dress shirt goes next, then his belt and his slacks, until he’s in only his underwear, just like her.

She brings her lips back up to his and whispers against them. “Then we can go crazy together.”

God yes. He wants nothing else.

They fumble their way to his bedroom, kisses and touches, giggles and groans. He pulls her down on top of him, his tongue dancing with hers, his hands cupping her butt and pulling her flush against the bulge in his boxers. She pulls back enough to whisper his name before she moves down, her fingers trailing down his chest so slowly that it makes him shudder. 

He loses his undershirt and boxers in near record time and she straddles him, her eyes wide with marvel as she takes him in. He can’t blame her for staring. He’s staring at her just the same, the halo of light around her head making her look like an angel. 

“This is all mine,” she whispers as she leans in to press kisses to his stomach.

“All yours,” he echoes. His heart pounds in his chest and only grows more rapid when she wraps a hand around his dick and pumps a few times. He groans at the feeling, and his hips jerk toward her when she runs her tongue around his head before taking it in her mouth. “ _Shit_.”

She hums around him, taking him inch by inch until he’s almost fully in her mouth. What she can’t reach is covered by her warm hand and she begins bobbing up and down, sucking and licking enough to cloud his mind.

His fingers thread in her hair, tugging at her locks every time she swipes her tongue along his slit. He feels like he’s about to burst, his body flushed, every nerve screaming at him to take her before he really goes insane. He tugs her away from his cock and she looks up with hooded eyes, a playful smile on her lips. 

“What is it, Asahi?” she teases. Her fingers cup his balls and squeeze hard enough to make him gasp. “What do you want?”

“You, _God_ , I want you so badly,” he manages to wheeze. 

It must be what she wants to, because she wastes no time shedding her lingerie. She reaches over to his nightstand and pulls out a foil packet from his stash, rolling it onto his erection before climbing on top of him again.

“Let me,” she whispers and sinks down on him.

The stretch makes both of them groan and his hands grip her thighs so tightly she’ll definitely have bruises tomorrow. She doesn’t seem to care. She starts to ride him slowly, like she’s savoring the feeling of his dick inside of her, of him stretching her out again. She throws her head back with a moan and his hands leave her thighs to grab hold of her breasts. He rolls a nipple between his fingers, then pinches. She likes that, he can tell, because she clenches around him and moves faster. 

His other hand moves to her clit and immediately starts circling, just the way he knows she likes it. She whines, hips stuttering, and that’s when he notices she’s staring at him. Her kiss-bruised lips are open with her mewls, her lust-filled eyes watching him as she grinds her hips into his.

“I love you,” she groans, putting a hand on his chest to steady herself. Her nails dig into his biceps and he doesn’t care, because she’s squeezing him so tightly that he is going to come any minute. “Please, Asahi, _please_.”

His thumb speeds up to match with her thrusts and soon she’s yelling out his name as she shakes, her eyes tightly closed as she rides her high. When she stops shaking, he grabs onto her waist and flips her over so she’s underneath him. Her fingernails dig into his shoulders as he pounds into her, his eyes squeezed shut at the pleasure running down his spine.

“I love you too,” he says between labored breaths. He repeats it two more times until he’s spilling into her, clinging to her as he whispers her name against her lips. 

She sleeps curled up next to his side that night, and Asahi thinks there’s no better place for her than between his arms.

*

The first time she forgives him is the last time. 

Because Asahi makes a promise that he’ll never hurt her again, never make her cry again as long as he can help it. 

And he keeps his promise for the next few years—up until she’s walking toward him in her white dress, the veil over her face barely masking the happy tears that run down her cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm a sucker for happy endings, okay


	2. Call the Police (Daichi Sawamura/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you punch a girl in a bar and catch Daichi's attention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asterisks indicate pov swapping  
> fem!reader, 9.4k words  
> next chapter is Sugawara/reader!

It’s a rare day that Daichi Sawamura gets off early on Fridays, and an even rarer occurrence that he also has Saturday off. But that’s how his schedule lines up this week and he wastes no time inviting Suga out for a drink. It’s been a bit since they’ve met up, and maybe he should have been suspicious at how well everything worked out in the end. 

Because really, nothing is ever as easy as it seems. 

They agree to meet at a quiet bar that’s in the middle for both of them, just after 8PM. Daichi happens to know the bar owner—a young guy named Oba who inherited his father’s business after the latter’s premature death. So they’re welcomed with handshakes, smiles, and a strangely ominous warning. 

“Sorry if it gets a bit loud,” Oba apologizes as soon as they sit down. He gestures his thumb toward a group of three girls at a table not too far away from them. “My sisters are meeting their friend tonight and they’re idiots when they get drunk.”

“Don’t worry, Yoshimoto-san,” Suga smiles. “We’re pros at dealing with idiots.”

The comment makes Daichi laugh and lets them fall easily into old memories and new stories. 

The girls honestly aren’t that noticeable or loud at first, even with the emptiness of the bar. Their two tables plus a small handful of people at the bartop are the only ones in the joint. That all changes after an hour or so, when a woman and a man walk in, the bell on the door ringing sharply and catching Oba’s attention. 

“Kaori-san! What are you doing here?”

There’s a worried pitch to his voice and Daichi notices the group of girls including Yoshimoto’s sisters whip their heads around toward the front door. 

“You gotta be kidding,” one of them mutters in English. _English_?

That’s when Daichi first sees you. 

He can’t see much with the low lighting, but the blue glow from the sign outside the window casts colorful shadows on your face. He’s surprised to see you’re not Japanese. You’re dressed plainly, hair tied up in a cute ponytail, but there’s a sour look on your face as you stare at the girl at the door. 

“What is she doing here?” the girl next to you whispers before taking a large swig of her drink. 

You let out a sigh. “I don’t know, but if she comes over here, there’s going to be trouble.”

_ Trouble _ . Daichi sure hopes there isn’t, because he gets enough trouble doing his work as a policeman and he wants to relax tonight. 

It’s like your comment attracts Kaori like a magnet. The girl at the door turns and spots the group, sauntering over with a fake smile and hand raise. 

“Long time no see!” Kaori greets. 

Daichi knows it isn’t any of his business. He should be focused on making conversation with his friend and not listening to whatever is happening behind him. But even Suga is looking at the group of girls with a curious eye. He doesn’t say anything as he lifts his drink to his lips and shrugs. Daichi guesses that means Suga is content just watching it all unfold, and for some odd reason, he is too. 

*

All you wanted was a calm evening out with your two closest friends. Nana had been the one to suggest your shared brother’s bar and you’d taken up the offer, unsure of anywhere else to go. It had only been a few months since you’d moved to the Miyagi Prefecture from Tokyo, changing nursing jobs from a big hospital to a smaller one in the country. 

It’s not that you don’t like Tokyo, but you wanted a change. Well,  _ needed  _ a change after your very public and very embarrassing breakup with your boyfriend. Two years together down the drain, thanks to one of your co-workers catching him with another nurse while on the clock. In the end, they didn’t even get punished and it’s you who had to leave the hospital and your entire life behind to start fresh elsewhere. 

You’d chosen Miyagi thanks to your long relationship with Nana and her insistence that the area would be a perfect escape. Everything had been wonderful until you found out Kaori still lives here.  _ Her _ , of all people. From one drama to the next. What are the chances?

So when she approaches with her fake smile and cat-like gaze with a “Long time no see!”, you can’t help the annoyed reply that leaves your mouth.

“Could have been longer.”

Nana and your friend Ichika both hide snorts behind their drinks. 

Kaori flicks a long strand of hair over her shoulder. “Oh, don’t be like that! Why don’t we have a drink together? Catch up on old memories?”

Old memories with Kaori means her ribbing you about shit from high school that she can’t seem to get over.  _ High school _ . You’re in your mid-20s now, for fuck’s sake. And in the end, she got the guy anyway. He stands at the bar, making awkward conversation with Oba over a beer. 

“We’ll pass,” Nana answers for you. Your partner-in-crime, your rock, your sister. There for you since this drama even started. You’re going to buy her next drink. 

“Oh, I see.” There’s that icy glint in her voice, the one that says Kaori is ready to fight. 

“Listen, I only want to drink with my friends, so if you’ll excuse us,” you try. It doesn’t work. 

“Friends, of course. Just like you were  _ friends  _ with Tadashi-kun while we were dating.”

“Yeah, and he’s standing over there waiting for you, so get lost,” Nana snaps. 

“Tell me,” Kaori sneers at you, completely ignoring Nana. “What brings you here? I happen to know someone who works at your old hospital and I heard a funny story.”

Your blood runs cold at the mention, fingers tightening around your sweating glass of beer. Has she been digging into your background? What kind of bullshit is she spewing now?

“What about it?” you manage. 

“How does it feel to be the one cheated on? Doesn’t feel too great, does it?”

_ Calm down _ , the rational part of your brain screams. But the fighter in you, the part that’s itching to put Kaori in her place, is yelling:  _ Punch her! Do it! _

“You know, Nana, Ichika,” you address your friends instead of the girl still looming in front of you. “Isn’t it crazy how the brain warps memories over time?”

“Right?” Ichika laughs.

Nana shakes her head. “Blaming you instead of that loser at the bar.”

“Don’t ignore me!” Kaori snaps.

That’s when you bring your attention back to her. “It’s been nearly ten years, Kaori. Get over it. I don’t want Tadashi and I sure as hell don’t want to see you anymore. Get out of here.”

Kaori doesn’t answer with words.

She answers with a resounding slap to your right cheek. 

It’s like a wave of calm washes over you, a strange sense of peace. She had been the one to hit first. There are several witnesses sitting around you that can attest to that. You know the law well enough to claim self-defense. But a nagging voice in the back of your mind, that sounds awfully like your mother, says:  _ You just moved here. Don’t cause trouble for your job _ . 

There are several pairs of eyes staring at you. Nana, Ichika, Kaori, Tadashi. But there’s also two men at the table over with wide eyes and confused expressions on their faces. Why did the guys have to be so cute? The silver-haired one looks over at his friend and—wow. Even in the dark lighting, he is handsome. Chiseled jaw, strong body, short hair that gives him a very manly look.  _ Goddamnit Kaori _ , you want to curse out. Did she really have to do that in front of  _ that  _ guy?

“If you’ve said your piece, you can go,” you respond evenly. You don’t want to give her what she wants. 

But what she wants is to slap you again, which she does. 

“Oi! What are you doing!” Oba yells from the bar. Now everyone’s eyes are on you. Annoying. 

“Hit me again and I’m going to lay you out,” you tell her honestly. 

It’s been a while since you’ve been in a fight. First year of middle school if you recall correctly, the one and only time you fought someone (and won.) An annoying boy who wouldn’t stop messing with your things under the guide of “liking you.” One who had gone too far and ruined your school uniform and shoes. The same one who had cursed your parents when you refused to give him the time of day.

You’d been in Tokyo then and you’d had a family then, both things that weren’t true now. 

The third slap is just as loud as the other two. You can hear chairs scraping and footsteps coming closer, but you don’t care. You warned her and now she’s going to suffer the consequences. 

“Oba, don’t call the police,” you holler. 

Then you send your right fist directly into her left cheek. 

*

Daichi thinks he should have stopped the fight  _ way  _ before it reached that point. His police officer brain had been silent the entire exchange, replaced with his common citizen brain who didn’t want to mess with it on his day off. 

That had been a mistake. 

On the second slap, he had stood up to stop the fight, but it had been too late. 

“Don’t call the police,” you had said.  _ I  _ am  _ the police! _ had been on the tip of his tongue.

But he hadn’t gotten to say it before you’d swung. 

Kaori tips over as soon as you make contact and falls to the ground in a heap of hair and heels. Your friend screams something about getting her and Oba runs over to tell his sister to knock it off. Everything is chaos.

You manage to land a second punch on the downed girl before Daichi can reach you to pull you off. 

“No!” you yell at him, thrashing in his arms. “Three times!”

_ Three times _ ? He wants to ask what you mean, but he pulls you away from Kaori anyway, holding your arms tight to your side. 

“Let me go!” you try again.

Daichi shakes his head and holds you tighter. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. I’m going to need you to calm down.”

“Like hell!”

Your elbow is strong, he has to admit. It wacks his chin and he grunts from the force, jerking his head back. It’s amazing how you immediately still in his arms. He thinks he hears a gasp but the commotion around the room is loud. 

He loosens his grip and you turn around with wide, apologetic eyes.

“Did I hit you?”

Daichi gets a better look at you now. Even with your red cheek and your tear-lined eyes from the force, you’re still cute. You reach to about his nose, which is kind of crazy considering how high you had to have swung your elbow to hit him. There’s an awkward grin on your face as you step away from him. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you.”

“You shouldn’t be hitting anybody,” he lectures. He feels like he’s back in third year, when he had to scold Hinata and Kageyama during their quarrels. 

You stare at him like you’re considering his answer for a second before you shrug. “I guess.”

“Maybe we should figure this out at the station.”

“What, are you going to call the police?” you ask him. Daichi remains silent for long enough that your face falls. “Don’t even _tell_ me you’re a cop.”

“He’s a cop,” Suga chimes in. Daichi didn’t even realize his friend had come closer. 

“Goddamnit,” you swear in English. But then you laugh loudly. Daichi doesn’t get what’s so funny. “That would be my luck, wouldn’t it? Can I at least have a cigarette first?”

It’s probably not a good idea, but for some reason, Daichi nods his head in agreement. He doesn’t smoke, but if he did, he would be asking for one right now too.

*

“Nana, let me bum a cig,” you request, tilting your head toward your sister. 

She sits back at your table, but she looks awfully angry with Oba, who stands in front of her with a shake of his head. 

“You don’t smoke anymore,” Nana answers but produces her pack from her purse on the table. 

“You’re not supposed to be smoking either, dumbass,” Oba chides but takes a cigarette for himself before handing you one.

“As if you follow your own advice,” Ichika snorts, and Oba gives her an annoyed scowl.

“Since we’re sharing, what about you guys?” you ask, turning back to the two cute guys standing by your left.

The taller, dark-haired one simply shakes his head, but the silver-haired one says politely, “No thank you.”

You gesture with your chin to the police officer before looking over at Kaori. She’s back on her feet and her cheek is marked with a large pink mark right around her cheekbone. Tears stream down her face as she glares at you. The unlit cigarette in your mouth wavers when you ask, “Is she coming with us?”

“Let’s talk outside first,” the man offers before he tells his friend to stay for a second. Then he walks over to Kaori to talk to her and Tadashi near the bar. 

“You’re fucked, aren’t you?” Ichika asks skeptically. “I mean, you just got here.”

“Probably,” you lament. Things really hadn’t been going your way these last few months. You had hoped Miyagi would be a fresh start, but old haunts are never too far away, it seems.

“Don’t worry,” the silver-haired man smiles. “Daichi is a nice person. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

_ Daichi, huh? _

You catch his sharp brown eyes and he gestures with a thumb toward the front door of the bar. You hope his cute friend is right and you can somehow avoid more trouble.

*

The night is slightly chilly when they make it outside. The unlit cigarette still hangs from your lips and Daichi briefly wonders if you ever plan to light it. Just as he thinks that, you pull a lighter from your pocket and take your first drag.

“Can I call you Daichi?” you ask.

He’s taken aback for a second. “How do you know my name?”

“Your cute friend told me,” you grin, taking a second drag. “But I’ll call you whatever makes you comfortable.”

“Sawamura is fine.”

“Okay Sawa-san,” you joke. “You can call me _One Punch Woman_.”

He knows he shouldn’t this so funny. But really, if he thinks about it, the situation in general is ridiculous enough to be hilarious. He knows it’ll be a great story when he and Suga meet their old friends again and tell them about the bar brawlers. 

Daichi hides that feeling with a stern look. “Your real name, please.”

“Fine, fine,” you grumble and provide him with what he wants. 

“Listen, you can’t go around punching people at bars. You could be in trouble and face legal consequences. You’re lucky that Kaori-san doesn’t want to press charges.”

“Yeah, because she got her ass beat,” you deadpan.

“Oh come on,” he sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “You need to take this seriously. Even if she doesn’t press charges, I could if I wanted. Oba-san can ban you from his bar as well.”

“Are you going to keep lecturing me or are you going to ask why I punched her in the first place?”

Daichi goes quiet at your question. You’re staring at him with dark eyes, the cigarette bud between your fingers smoking but no longer glowing. You stomp it beneath your boots, crossing your arms over your chest, hands running up and down your thin long-sleeved blouse. Daichi feels a twinge of pity at how cold you look.

“Go on.”

“I don’t know what she told you,” you say as you lean against the wall next to the front door of your brother’s bar. “But this shit started way back in high school. I thought I was dating Tadashi but I was the side chick. Kaori was the main woman. She found out before me and has hated me ever since.”

“Even so—”

You cut him off. “Ten years, Sawa-san.  _ Ten years _ of this shit. Think about your worst moment in high school,” you tell him and pause a moment for effect. “Now think about it being brought up constantly, even now as an adult. Sucks, doesn’t it?”

A few moments flash through Daichi’s mind. The first two years of high school when they were still the flightless crows. Getting injured during one of his matches. Losing to Aoba Johsai in third year. Breaking up with Yui at the end of high school though they hadn’t dated long. Any one of those were crappy memories and to be reminded over and over… he could see your point. 

“Sometimes you just snap,” you mutter, kicking at small pebbles beneath your feet. 

Daichi doesn’t know what to say. He hadn’t really planned on taking you to the station, but now you look forlorn and upset enough that he regrets bringing it up in the first place. 

“Well, don’t do it again,” he threatens without much weight to it. 

You look at him, your smile growing slowly. “You’re not taking me in?”

“No, consider it a warning.”

“Oh thank God,” you reply loudly in English before switching back. “The hospital would have fired me.”

“Hospital?” Daichi raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I’m a nurse,” you explain.

For some reason, this throws him off. Weren’t nurses supposed to help people, not throw punches at them? To be fair, you were provoked, but even then, it’s reckless to do it so publicly.

Your lips thin as he keeps staring. “Let me guess, you’re thinking ‘ _ How does this foreigner have such good Japanese _ ?’”

It pulls a chuckle from Daichi’s throat. “I wasn’t thinking that, but you must get that a lot.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” you grumble. “I’ve been here since I was in elementary school.”

Daichi wants to ask more questions. There’s so many things on the tip of his tongue. But he holds them in with a thick swallow. It’s strange how the tone has shifted so much. He came outside to scold you, not to get to know you. But there’s a pull deep down that makes him want to keep talking with you, to unlock your secrets and covet them. 

Maybe it’s because he hasn’t had a girlfriend for a long time. That’s gotta be it.

“Are we finished, Sawa-san?” you ask with a smile. 

Part of him wants to say no but there’s no reason to keep you here. He’d given his warnings, thoroughly scolded you.

“Be careful in the future,” he finishes. That’s all he’s got left.

“Sure boss,” you say in English then pause. “By the way,” you add, switching back. Your hand smacks his shoulder playfully. “You’re kinda cute. If you ever want to handcuff me, let me know.”

You walk away without even a glance back, and Daichi thanks God for that, because his cheeks are the color of your crimson skirt and he can’t form words for a solid two minutes after you leave. 

*

It’s much easier working at Sendai City Hospital compared to your old workplace. Your last hospital had always been packed with patients, but working here gives you just a bit more downtime comparatively. Which means more time to think about what Nana and Ichika had dubbed “The Incident.”

Your friends had just about died laughing when you told them what you left Daichi with. 

“You might as well have said  _ handcuff me, daddy _ ,” Nana had said through tears at the story.

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Ichika had chimed in.

“Yeah, yeah, if I ever see him again, maybe I will,” you had responded back then. 

But for some reason, that thought stuck with you.

Do you want to see him again? Part of you thinks so. The other part thinks you’re an idiot. You’ll be the first to admit you did some digging. Daichi Sawamura doesn’t have a Facebook but he has an Instagram. A barely updated Instagram but an Instagram nonetheless. You had scrolled through a few pictures to make sure you had the right person, and finding out you did, you went the entire way back like the stalker you were. 

At least you aren’t as creepy as Nana. As soon as you get off work early that morning, you get a phone call from your sister, who you can tell is beaming through the phone.

“I know where your handcuff daddy works,” she sing-songs.

You almost spit out the coffee you’re drinking. (Overnight shifts are the worst.) “My what now?”

“You know how I got Suga-san’s number that night? Well, we’ve been messaging and I asked about Mr. Policeman. He works at the Sendai Minami Police Station.”

If you weren’t clutching your phone, you would have dropped it. “You have to be kidding.”

“Nope! Why?”

“That’s fifteen minutes from my hospital.”

“This is fate!” Nana exclaims.

“Please don’t get started,” you groan. Nana is the romantic one out of the three of you, always with her nose buried in some romance manga that she gushes about later. You never really cared for that type of stuff, especially now with what your ex did to you.

“You should go down there and talk to him.”

“What? No! I’m sure he doesn’t want to see me.”

Nana  _ hmphs _ . “I’m sure he would! You are very cute and obviously memorable. Go get em, tiger!”

“I’m hanging up now,” you joke.

“Wait, no! At least let me tell you about Suga-san!”

It’s a welcome reprieve to hear about someone else’s issues, and the entire bus ride home, you listen to Nana chatter on and on about her budding romance with Mr. Eye Mole. But when she hangs up a bit after you reach your small apartment, you pause. Would Daichi remember you? Would he want you to contact him again? Would it be creepy to visit?

A hot shower doesn’t clear your thoughts, neither does a long nap. So you do what any normal girl does and research cake shops in the area that deliver to Sendai Minami Police Station. It’s a win-win, right? A thank you for his lenience and a nice treat for his squad. And on the thank you note, your number. That way, the ball is in his court and you don’t look like an absolute stalker, walking in with no good reason. 

At least that’s what you tell yourself as you dial the closest bakery you can find. 

*

There are a lot of things Daichi has gotten used to with his job. The itchy uniform. The old ladies who need help with their cats. The occasional overnight shifts that have him breaking up drunken fights then dozing off at his desk after. The endless paperwork thanks to Japanese bureaucracy. It comes with the territory of being part of the community force.

But there’s one thing he still hasn’t gotten used to: being thanked for doing a good job.

It sounds strange, but in Daichi’s mind, it’s just what he does. It’s his job to protect the community and he’s happy to provide his service.  So when a delivery comes with a cake addressed to him, he has no idea what to do with it.

“Who sent you a cake?” his co-worker Haruki asks as he leans over the small table Daichi had set it on. 

“I have no idea.”

The delivery man hadn’t said anything, only told him it was a special order.

Daichi gets it as soon as he opens the lid of the box. 

_ ‘Thanks for not arresting me, Sawa-san’  _ is written in royal blue icing on the top of the white cream cake.  There’s a little card taped to the top of the box, and as soon as he reads it, his cheeks flare pink.  On the inside is a phone number.  _ Your  _ phone number. Along with a tiny drawing of his face next to a small pair of handcuffs. What the  _ hell _ .

“Do you still not know who sent it?” Haruki ribs him. The guy doesn’t even wait for Daichi to say he can have some before he’s cutting a piece and hollering to the rest of the squad about free cake. 

It’s halfway through his own piece (the cake is amazing too) when he sets down his chopsticks. His phone is sitting right in front of him. You had taken the first step, but it’s his choice now. That was thoughtful of you, he has to admit.

It’s not like he doesn’t remember you. In fact, he’s been thinking about your parting words for a whole week now.  _ If you ever want to handcuff me, let me know _ . He’s woken up more times this week with a boner than he has since high school. He thought that was the end of it, that he would never see you again, and now you’ve sent a cake to his workplace as a tease. 

He nearly jumps out of his skin when his shoulder radio goes off—a call from another pair coming back. It’s his time to patrol the streets instead. And no sooner, because his phone is taunting him, along with the memory of your eyes on him as you talked outside Oba’s bar. 

The rest of his shift goes decently well but when he gets back home, he still doesn’t know what to do. So he dials Suga, since his friend is the only one who knows you and can maybe make sense of it all.

He laughs as soon as Daichi tells him. 

“She sent you a  _ cake _ ?” he asks incredulously. “Now you definitely have to text her.”

“I don’t even know how she found out where I work. Isn’t that sort of creepy?”

Daichi can practically hear Suga shake his head. “Not if I was the one who told her sister, who would obviously tell her.”

“Sister?”

“Yeah, Nana-san. They’re sisters.”

_ Wait, what? How is that possible?  _ Curiosity eats away at him. Your phone number sits on the table in front of him. He can just ask. It’s that easy, isn’t it?

“If not, you could always send her a cake back. Make it a cake battle. Whoever buys the most delicious cake has to treat the other to dinner.”

“Suga, shut up,” Daichi grumbles, but Suga only laughs and laughs.

*

It’s been a long two days since you heard word that your cake was delivered and yet your phone is empty of any and all text messages from  _ Handcuff Daddy _ . Maybe the cake had been a little too much. Nana and Ichika had told you that, laughing even harder at your lame attempt at flirting.

_ Nana-pan _ : A cake?! Girl really?! What the fuck are you doing

_ Ichi-ni _ : Obviously not getting laid

_ Nana-pan _ : We had such high hopes

_ Nana-pan _ : (；一ω一||)

_ You _ : Shut the hell up both of you, who doesn’t like cake?

_ Ichi-ni _ : Obviously Sawa-san because he hasn’t texted you

_ You _ : Ouch. Maybe I should have gone with pie…

The conversation changed from there, but Ichika’s lame ass comment had been on your mind since then. Maybe he didn’t like you as much as you liked him. Maybe your comment about the handcuffs (and then actually sending a cake) had been too much for him.

You’re wallowing in your self-pity, making your rounds, when a coworker pops her head into the room you’re in.

“Hey, someone is here to see you.”

You write down the vitals of your sleeping patient then turn to her with a raised eyebrow. “Who is it?”

“He didn’t give his name, but it’s a police officer. What did you do?”

A police officer?  _ Holy shit _ . There’s no way Daichi Sawamura is in your lobby asking for you. You must look like a deer in the headlights, because your coworker asks what’s the matter.

“Does he have short brown hair, tall, really handsome?”

She nods the affirmative. “And it looks like he’s holding some cakes.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes from your lips. You cover it with your free hand so you don’t wake your patient and exit the room to meet him.

As soon as you make it to the front desk area, you see Daichi standing there, still in his uniform, a cardboard holder with two iced coffees and a small bag from the bakery in his hands. He looks amazing in his uniform, the dark blue matching his complexion, the small sheen on his forehead from the warm lobby (and what you selfishly hope is nerves) making him look utterly delectable.

_ You’re at work, calm down _ , you berate yourself, but your clenching core has a different idea. You shift your thighs together to make the feeling go away, smooth out stray hairs in your tight bun, then call out to him with the cutest smile you can muster.

He turns to you and his smile catches you off-guard. You hadn’t been able to see it very well in the darkness of Oba’s bar, but he is downright gorgeous when he smiles, his eyes crinkling up and nearly disappearing.

“Sorry to bug you at work,” he apologizes first thing after he greets you.

“Yeah, you could have texted first,” you tease him. He flushes from your comment and his lips flounder a few times, so you save him the embarrassment and continue on. “My break is in five minutes if you want to wait for me. We can drink the coffee together?”

“Yeah, of course,” he readily agrees.

You have to turn away to hide your own red cheeks. A coffee date at work with a police officer you’ve had plenty of late night fantasies about. You’ve walked right into one of Nana’s smutty shoujo mangas. She will never let you live it down.

*

Talking to you starts off awkwardly, but soon Daichi gets into a rhythm that has both of you laughing like old friends. You tell him how you convinced the bakery owner to draw a picture of Daichi’s face after sending one of his Instagram pictures. 

“So you admit to stalking me,” he jokes. 

Your cheeks flush but your head is held high. “Are you telling me you didn’t do the same?”

It’s his turn to blush. Of course he did. Instead of texting you yesterday, he had done furious searches of your name. Your Facebook is private, but Instagram. Oh, Instagram. So many pictures of you and your friends (Nana and Ichika, he knows now), some with your (ex?) boyfriend, a few at the beach he could barely tear his eyes away from (He’s probably going to Hell, but it’s fine.)

“Actually, I have a question if that’s okay.”

His politeness must throw you off because you raise an eyebrow. “You can ask me anything, you don’t have to ask.”

“Well, I mean,” he laughs and scratches the back of his head. “It’s a bit personal. I was wondering how Nana is your sister?”

“Oh,” you say and go quiet for a second. You look down at your coffee, picking at the straw of your finished drink. “Well, I moved to Japan in elementary school because my dad got a job at a tech company. I met Nana then and we became best friends, so when my parents died in middle school, her parents took me in and eventually adopted me.”

“Adopted you?” 

“I had nowhere else to go,” you smile down at your coffee even though you’re talking about something sad. “I’m forever grateful to them. I know it cost a lot of money and legal problems, but they’ve never treated me as anything but their daughter. So yeah, Nana and Oba are technically my siblings.”

Daichi doesn’t know what to say. He’s happy you shared with him; sad you have such a difficult background; excited to know more about you.

On impulse, he leans over and grabs your hand, holding it tightly in his. It’s warm and comforting, and for some reason, his heart skips. “Thank you for sharing with me.”

“It’s no problem,” you respond, not pulling your hand away. Then, in the quietest voice, he hears: “I want to get to know you too.”

Daichi feels like he could fly to the moon and back. Why didn’t he text you earlier? Why did he panic and wait so long to ask Suga where you worked? You could have been on a date right now instead of sitting in the lobby, both disheveled from long shifts.

“Hey, I have to get back to work in a few,” you tell him and start to pull your hand away.

He won’t let you. There’s a surge in his chest that makes him blurt out: “Go on a date with me this weekend. A real one, not a coffee one.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” you respond without missing a beat. Your smile is teasing, cute, alluring. “Will there be cake?”

“There can be anything you want,” he laughs then pauses. There’s a flash of something in your eye, a darkening that wasn’t there before. Your gaze flicks to his lips and back again. Then you smile and it’s gone.

“Perfect. Just text me,” you say as you stand, thanking him for the coffee and sweets before demanding: “And don’t forget either, I’ll be waiting.”

Daichi literally doesn’t wait for you to disappear. His phone is already in his hand, shooting you a message to ask when’s the best time you’re free. 

*

“If you don’t put this on, I’m going to kill you,” Nana demands. 

Ichika stands next to her, hand on her hip. “And I’ll bring you back and kill you again. Put the dress on.”

“Would you both stop looking at me like that?” you demand, grabbing the little black dress from Nana’s hands. 

They had come over an hour ago to help you get ready for your date with Daichi and they had been absolutely useless. Clothes from your closet are all over the bed and floor, your most intimate lingerie and underwear in piles with them. You had honestly forgotten about the dress Nana picked, but you remember as soon as you slip it over your head and wiggle into it. A gift from your ex. It’s ironic, not that you care. Your feelings for him had disappeared along with any respect for him once you found him and his mistress in the break room together. At least you got to keep the little black dress.

You emerge from the bathroom and do a twirl for your friends, giving them your best alluring smile. Nana whistles and Ichika fixes the off-the-shoulder straps for you before forcing you into a chair she had prepared in front of your vanity.

“It’s a good thing you don’t live with me anymore,” Nana laughs as Ichika begins fixing your makeup. “Daichi won’t be able to take his hands off of you.”

“Yeah, maybe we won’t even make it out of the apartment, so you guys should leave,” you tease, but you aren’t sure how sure that is in the first place.

Daichi had been nothing but respectful in his messages, even with his teasing and flirting. The dirtiest comment you had gotten from him had been,  _ I won’t complain if you show a little cleavage _ . And you certainly are doing that for him, the low-cut black accenting your features quite well, if you do say so yourself.

Once Ichika finishes swiping dark red along your lips, she stands back and admires her work. 

“I hope you’re not going far for dinner.”

“He’s picking me up at 7.”

“I hate to break it to you,” Nana gestures to the clock on your vanity. “But it’s 6:57.”

“Shit!” you swear in English, scrambling out of the chair. There’s still so much you have to do: pack a bag, put on perfume, fix some stray hairs, clean up your room, prepare yourself mentally for your first date in a long time…

It’s too late. The happy chime of your front doorbell makes the three of you pause and go dead silent. 

When it rings again, you turn to your sister and whisper, “What do I do?”

“Answer the door!” she shrieks and looks at Nana. “You pack her bag, I’ll clean up her room. Go babe, go. We love you.”

Nana practically shoves you out of the bedroom and shuts the door behind you, leaving you alone in the middle of your small living room by yourself.

The doorbell rings a third time and you swear your heart can’t beat any faster. You clench your hand to make it stop shaking then open the door, giving Daichi a demure smile.

“Hi, sorry,” you say breathlessly and for good reason. 

Daichi Sawamura looks fucking _handsome_. His long-sleeve light blue button-up is fitted and tucked into his black jeans. His smile widens; his cheeks flush the slightest pink. You feel like a middle school kid again, with a crush on the student council president, because you’re 100% sure Daichi would have been that student.

“It’s no problem,” he replies just as breathlessly. “You look absolutely amazing.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, mister,” you smile back. 

“You two have fun now!” Ichika yells, and it makes you jump. When did she get there? She hands you one of your black handbags and a pair of white strappy heels and basically ushers you out the door. “Bye!”

The door shuts behind you and you stand shoeless and clueless in the hallway. Daichi stands next to you, a confused quirk in his brow but a laugh on his lips. You’re gonna kill Ichika when you get home. 

“Isn’t this your apartment?” he asks.

You nod as you put the heels on. “At least I thought it was, but I guess not.”

“Let’s hope it’s in one piece when you get home,” Daichi chuckles and extends his arm out for you when you’re done. 

Rather than one piece, you hope they are out of your goddamn apartment by the time you get home, because you don’t know how long you keep your hands off of Daichi when he looks like  _ that _ .

*

Daichi doesn’t know how he makes it through dinner. He had been careful in his messages not to push your boundaries, tried not to show how desperately he liked you and wanted you. But now that you’re here in front of him, your eyelashes fluttering at him with the small amount of wine running through your system, he doesn’t know how much longer he can restrain himself.

Your foot grazes his leg enough times that he knows it isn’t an accident. But it’s okay, because after his second beer, he grabs your hand and doesn’t let go. His thumb strokes along the skin of your inner wrist as he listens to you ramble about high school shenanigans with Nana and Oba.

“Sorry,” you laugh. The tint of pink in your cheeks is absolutely adorable. “I’m talking a lot.”

“I like your voice,” he tells you, and later he’ll say it’s the three beers that makes him add: “I want to hear what else your voice can do.”

It must have been the clue you were waiting for. Your eyes widen for just a second before you’re grinning, setting your chin on your palm. Your voice is low when you answer, “If you grab the check, maybe you can find out.”

He can’t flag down the waiter fast enough. And he can’t get you back to your apartment fast enough either. As soon as you unlock the door, he pushes you against the wall, his lips covering yours. Your fingers grab onto his collar so you can pull him flush against you, and his leg slips between yours, forcing you to open them.

You gasp and he pushes his tongue into your mouth, a hand cupping your chin to keep you close. You taste like red wine and chocolate cake, but who cares about that when you’re grinding against his thigh with breathy moans into his mouth.

You pull back but your lips still ghost over his, fingers unbuttoning his top two buttons. “Are we going to fuck in my hallway?”

His embarrassed laugh leaves him before he can contain it. “Is that what you want?”

“What I want is you inside me,” you whisper. The glint in your eye is  _ dangerous  _ and it goes straight to his half-hard cock. “I don’t care where.”

He groans and lifts you so your legs wrap around his waist. As soon as your arms wrap around his shoulders, he kicks your front door closed and hobbles to your bedroom. You’re not heavy to him in the least, but it’s hard to keep his head clear when you’re nipping at the skin below his ear, breath fanning against his ear and making him hot.

He drops you onto your bed and a strange thought hits him as he stares down at you with burning eyes. Your bed looks freshly made, room awkwardly organized. You look absolutely ravishing with the way your cheeks are tinted red, hair wildly splayed around you in contrast to the neatness of your room. 

As soon as he finishes unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it aside, another wild thought hits him that makes him smirk. 

_ They won’t be neat for very long. _

*

Daichi in his button-up had been handsome, but Daichi without a shirt makes you groan. He’s all lean muscle in all the right places. You reach out for him and manage to grab his arm to tug him back on top of you. Your lips mash together roughly, your tongue wasting no time in tangling with his, your hands running down his back. His body is toned and feels perfect under your hands. Now that you don’t have to keep your hands to yourself, it might be impossible to tear yourself away.

His lips move back down to your neck, his warm breaths making you shiver. Nipping his way down, he bites into your shoulder, and your gasp makes him do it again, hips rocking together for extra friction.

“Sawa-san,” you groan, shifting under him to try and reach the zipper on your back. Your dress can’t come off soon enough.

“Daichi,” he nearly growls into your skin. He doesn’t pull back more than he needs to to help you with your dress. It’s hard to shimmy out of it with his body pressed so closely to yours, but you somehow manage to kick it away before his lips start trailing down to your bra-covered breasts. One of his hands moves down to your covered core, two of his long fingers circling around the wet spot on your panties. “I want to hear you say it, baby, come on.”

“ _ Daichi _ ,” you gasp, your fingers tightening around his shoulders. He’s moving too fast and too slow at the same time.

“Perfect,” he croons, teeth nibbling at your hardened nipples over top the fabric of your bra. His fingers haven’t stopped rubbing over your core, but the strokes are languid, slow, and make you grind down to feel more friction.

“Are you going to touch me or what?” you joke with him, lifting your hips towards his hand to emphasize your point. Daichi must not like that, because he bites down on one of your nipples hard enough to make you squeal. 

“I think I’m touching you right now,” he counters playfully, but finally pushes aside your panties and drags two of his fingers up your wet slit. Your soft groan turns into a moan when his other hand pushes your bra up and his warm lips encase a nipple. He rolls his tongue in time with his fingers over your clit, and it makes you squirm your hips even closer to him.

“Faster, please,” you breathe, wanting to feel more of him on you. He obliges and starts rubbing his thumb over your clit faster, and one of his fingers pushes into your heat slowly. You’re wet enough that after a few pumps, a second finger joins shortly after. Your head is fuzzy with the pleasure, fingers threading themselves into his hair when he switches to suck on the other nipple.

His name leaves your lips breathlessly when he curls his fingers, hips grinding down into his as heat starts to pool in your stomach. Daichi groans into your breast and jerks himself away, making you whine at the loss of contact. It doesn’t last very long; he immediately tugs your panties down, not even bothering to take them all the way off before he dives down to your core. 

His tongue runs up and down your folds before pushing inside, and he has to hold your hips down with one of his hands to keep you from bucking into his face. As soon as his lips wrap around your clit, you let out a quiet “ _ fuck _ ,” fingers digging back into his short hair. His tongue is relentless, circling around your nub and sucking until you’re a writhing mess under him. You can feel your orgasm approaching quickly, and it grows when Daichi pushes two of his fingers into you again, pumping in time with his tongue flicks. 

“Daichi, fuck I’m close,” you babble in English, eyes tightly shut as he hums into your core. You’re sure he doesn’t understand you, but he sucks even harder on your clit, his fingers curling just right, and you snap. Your orgasm washes over you with a loud cry of his name, arching off the bed as your body shakes with the intensity. 

He helps you ride out your climax with his fingers, and when he pulls away, his face shines with your slick on his smirk. He doesn’t let you catch your breath. He’s kissing you again, and the taste of yourself on his tongue makes you groan into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders. 

“Your turn,” you grin when he pulls back, and he doesn’t resist when you push him onto his back. You shimmy out of your panties and bra, letting them drop to the floor with a teasing smile on your face. He’s perched on his elbows, staring up at you with dark eyes, his bulge straining against his pants. “Do you like what you see, officer?”

He groans, throwing a hand over his eyes. “Did you really call me that?”

“I mean, the first time I met you, I told you to handcuff me,” you remind him with a laugh, crawling over him with a wicked smile. “That offer is still on the table.”

“Next time,” he whispers against your lips, grabbing your hips and grinding your core against his bulge. You gasp, fingers trailing down his toned chest, flicking over his nipples before they dig into the soft flesh of his stomach.

“Do you want me, Daichi?” you ask with a glint in your eyes, fingers playing with the button of his jeans. He answers with a breathy “ _ hell yes _ ,” and your core throbs again, wanting to feel him inside of you as soon as possible. He lifts his hips so you can pull down his pants and boxers, and your eyes land on his cock. You’re usually not one to think this, but his dick is as beautiful as he is, and your hand wraps around the base without hesitation. 

You watch his reaction as you start to pump slowly. His eyes are hooded, his chest heaving with his heavy breaths. His gaze flicks from your hand to your face, his lips parted and tongue running over his bottom lip.

“God, you’re sexy,” you breathe before enveloping the head of his cock in your mouth.

“Shit,” he groans, forcing his hips back down onto the bed so he doesn’t make you gag. You appreciate it, but there’s nothing more you want to do than for him to fuck your mouth without restraint. You take as much of him into your mouth as you can, hand wrapping around what you can’t reach, and he gasps when your tongue runs along the underside of his dick.

You bob up up and down his length in time with your hand, and his quiet moans grow louder until he’s pulling your head off of him by your hair. You stare up at him with flushed cheeks and heavy breaths that match his, his fingers detangling from your hair to run along your swollen bottom lip.

“Do you have a condom?” he asks, and the simple question nearly makes you shiver. 

You climb over him so you can reach into the top drawer of your nightstand, and your fingers fumble when his tongue runs along your breasts, nipping and sucking as he waits for you. You hand the square foil to him and he rips it open with his teeth, hurrying to roll it over his hard dick.

“Come on baby, I want you on top,” he pleads, and you’re immediately lining up his length with your dripping core, sinking down on him slowly.

It’s been a bit since you’ve had something other than your fingers inside of you, so the stretch burns as he pushes in, even with how wet you are. He gives you time to adjust once he bottoms out, hands on your hips to keep you steady. It only takes a moment to get comfortable and you’re rolling his hips into his as soon as you’re ready, groans leaving both of your mouths at the feeling. 

The slow pace you start with apparently isn’t enough for him, because his fingers grip your hips harder and he helps you bounce on his cock. Your head rolls back when he hits something deep within you, your fingers digging into his biceps as you match his pace. Pleasure buzzes in your veins again, heat pooling deep within you as his hips rise to fuck you harder. 

He licks his thumb and it finds your clit again, rubbing quick circles to try and bring your peak again. It won’t take long. His cock hits within you perfectly, his breathy grunts and groans driving you wild.

“Come for me, baby,” he begs, his face flushed and lust-blown pupils studying your face closely. “I want to see you come for me again.”

“Daichi,” you whine, the heat in your belly growing the faster he rubs your swollen clit. 

“Fuck,” he swears in English, and you might have laughed if you didn’t find it extremely sexy. His hips stutter as he comes, his body shivering as he fills up the condom, his fingers digging even deeper into your hips. His thumb stops moving for a moment as he comes down from his high, but once he recovers, he’s rubbing again, quick enough to make the heat flare up again.

Daichi’s hand leaves your hip to grab the back of your head, crashing your lips together as he works your clit. It only takes a few more circles and pinches to make you clench around him again, a cry of his name muffled against his lips as you reach your second orgasm. 

You both try to catch your breaths, foreheads pressed together as you bask in each other’s presence. He pulls you closer so your head lays on his chest, his chin resting on the top of your head.

“We should shower,” you hum against his skin, and you can feel his laugh vibrate through his chest.

“Later.” 

Daichi’s so warm, his slowing heartbeat and strong embrace giving you comfort. You could definitely get used to the feeling. 

*

It’s hard for Daichi to leave the next morning, but you both have to get back to the real world, which includes work. He only leaves after a promise that you’ll call him later after you’ve cleaned up and taken a nap (he had been right that your sheets would be messy and he smugly enjoyed it when you said you now needed to do laundry.)

You do call later that day, and almost every day after that. Seven months passes by in a flash, and it’s the happiest six months of his life. He’s practically moved into your apartment since it’s closer to both of your workplaces, and once his lease is up later in the year, you’ve talked about living together.

If there’s only one problem in your relationship, it’s Kaori, the girl from the bar the night he met you. The same girl who stands in his police station’s lobby, awkwardly picking at her nails as she stands in front of his desk. 

“You were the first person I thought of,” she tells him quietly, not looking up to meet his eyes.

“I’m glad you came to me,” he responds with a sympathetic nod. The paperwork in front of him will soon be filled with her statement against her ex-boyfriend Tadashi, the one you and her used to fight over. “Do you want me to call someone before we start?”

Kaori pauses before she finally looks up and meets his eyes. “Actually, yes.”

And that’s how he ends up calling you on your day off to come down to the station and help your old love rival.

Your eyes are wide after you walk in the door and see Kaori sitting at the desk, but he can’t read your face as your eyes bounce between the two of them. Kaori stands up as soon as you enter, her eyes watering as she stutters.

“I’m sorry for calling you here,” she nearly sobs. “But you’re the only one I could think of because you’re the only one who knows Tadashi too.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” you step forward and soothe the crying girl, patting her head awkwardly. 

Your eyes meet his, and Daichi half-expects you to glare at him for not telling you the reason he called, but you don’t. You give him a nod and let him do his work. He walks Kaori through her statement—how she caught Tadashi cheating again, how she confronted him, and how he flipped out and threatened her life—and he’s glad you’re holding her hand because Kaori is an understandable mess.

When she’s done, you smile at her before looking back at him, “Don’t worry. Daichi will help you. You can trust him.”

Kaori thanks the both of you with a barely audible mumble, but Daichi can’t take his eyes off of you. There’s something about the moment, with you comforting someone you once punched at a bar, a calm and understanding smile on your face, that makes him realize you’re the one. 

*

You snuggle closer into Daichi’s side, arms tightly wrapped around him as he drums his fingers on your legs that are swung over his lap. It’s a common occurrence now, you two on the couch of your apartment, watching TV after eating dinner together whenever you can. 

“Don’t forget that I’ll be out Friday,” you remind him after your show ends. “I’m meeting Kaori, Nana, and Ichika for drinks.”

“If you would have said that a few months ago, I would never have believed you,” Daichi laughs, and it makes you grin.

“Hey, I can be nice too, you know.”

“I know, that’s why I love you.”

It feels like the air leaves your lungs, your body turning into a statue. He must not have realized he said it, because he’s flipping through the channels as he munches on the last of your shared potato chips. When he doesn’t feel you moving against him, he looks down at you curiously.

“What?”

“You love me?”

The question makes him pause before his cheeks break out in a furious blush at the realization that  _ yeah, he said it out loud _ . “I, well. Yeah. Yeah, I do.” He admits with a rub of the back of his head.

You practically squeal with excitement, throwing yourself over him so you can straddle him. “Good,” you breathe against his lips, pressing kiss after kiss to them. “Because I love you too.”

It’s the first time you say it, but it’s certainly not the last. He is, however, the last man you’ll ever say it to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i looked up so many maps to make sure it was geographically correct, lol  
> i'm a hypocrite because i HATE the "girls catfighting over a boy" trope, which is why i ended it the way i did  
> i hope you enjoyed <3


	3. A Lesson in Love (Koushi Sugawara/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sugawara loves karaoke (but he loves you more)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> best wingman goes to random oc dave  
> slight praise kink?  
> fem!reader, 7,236 words (why am I like this)

It’s not often that Koushi Sugawara’s elementary school has a teacher’s dinner. The principal is more laid back, preferring to keep meetings short and business casual. But the start of the new school year arrives with a wet but warm April and there’s no avoiding the welcome dinner for two new teachers with them. 

At least his co-workers are nice, and one of the new 4th Grade teachers (a Japanese-American guy who goes by Dave) is a riot. He makes the men laugh, the girls blush, and the principal give permission for a second round, as long as it’s on their own tab. 

That’s how Suga ends up at a karaoke bar nearly packed to the brim with foreigners. It’s the new hot spot in Sendai, Dave tells him and a 6th Grade teacher Amano as they settle into open seats at the bar. Suga had only agreed to come because the two beers he’d drank at dinner had made him suddenly want to embarrass himself by singing Disney songs. But when Dave had said karaoke, he thought the guy meant a private room, not in public. Maybe it isn’t such a good idea after all.

Though his English is... decent, he doesn’t dare strike up a conversation with any of the groups that crowd around him. He’s intimidated by how fast they talk, by how loud they get after a few drinks. He wants to strike up a conversation with some cute girls next to him, but he nurses his beer instead, chatting with Dave and Amano about different teachers at their school.

When a worker at the bar announces that they’ll be starting karaoke in five minutes, the entire bar hollers with excitement. Suga sits through nostalgic but off-key ballads, half-drunk people who forget the lyrics, others who dance stupidly and make the entire bar laugh. Dave even tries his hand at a rap song and fails miserably at following along, but he still gets cheers when he finishes.

That’s when Suga sees you for the first time. Your long-sleeved polka dot dress accents your body perfectly, and the smile on your face has no sign of nerves or worries. You hold the microphone close to your chest as you speak to the large group in front of you.

“Well, I was supposed to have a partner but she canceled.” Your sarcastic ‘boo’ makes others join in. “So I had to pick a new song last minute. Sorry it’s in Japanese but it's my favorite.”

As soon as the music starts, Suga sits up in his seat. This is one of his favorite songs too, one he always sings in the shower when he knows his neighbors won’t be able to hear him. You’re not the best singer, but you give the song a new flavor that keeps his eyes on you the entire time. When you finish, your cheeks are happily flushed pink as you leave the stage, and Suga only takes his eyes off of you when Dave elbows him a bit too hard.

“Got your eye on her?”

“Oh, no, no. Just liked the song,” Suga laughs airily, taking a sip of his beer to avoid his new coworker’s knowing eyes.

It doesn’t work. “Come on man, let’s go talk to her.”

Suga wants to yell that this isn’t how it works in Japan (though he’s sure Dave knows that.) That he doesn’t speak enough English for this. That he hasn’t been on a date in months, not since his girlfriend cheated on him with some businessman, and he hasn’t even _talked_ to a girl in just as long. But none of that matters when Dave catches your attention and you turn with curious eyes.

“Hey,” he greets, and you return the greeting, if not a bit skeptically. Dave yells over the new song that just started. “We really loved your song!”

“Yeah?” You smile and cock your head. “Your song was pretty good too.” Then your eyes land on him and Suga gulps. “Are you going to sing a song?”

All his English has left his brain. The only word he can remember is ‘ _help_.’ Help him, whoever is listening. He looks at Dave, but his coworker gives him a head tilt and exaggerated eyes. He has to answer something before it gets too awkward.

“Uh, no, I don’t really know any English songs,” he answers in Japanese then curses himself. He’s an idiot. He should have studied harder in school (well, he did just fine, but...). He should have listened when his English teacher said he’d need higher level English later, not just for tests.

Then, Suga hears the most beautiful sound in the world.

“You can sing a Japanese song like I did!” You respond in perfect Japanese and save his life.

“Oh!” He can’t help the excited arch of his eyebrows. “I should have known you speak Japanese! Your song was amazing.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” you laugh, and it warms his cheeks. 

“It was! I really love that song.”

“Me too!” you gush, and that’s how it starts.

Suga doesn’t know how long he spends talking to you, but it’s long enough that Dave slinks off to talk with another girl at the mic stand, and long enough that one of your friends gives him her seat when she goes to dance with someone else. Suga gets half of your life story quickly; you’re surprisingly loose-lipped, but perhaps it’s the jack and cokes you’ve been nursing all night. 

He learns you’re a translator for a small book company in Sendai, moved here about a year ago after spending your entire childhood in Tokyo and only going back for university. But your job is driving you crazy, because you’re struggling with all of the new kanji you come across daily.

“They all look the same,” you lament as you finish your drink. “My spoken Japanese is fine, but the _kanji_.” You emphasize your whine with a raise of your glass. “I should have chosen an easier language to learn.”

“I feel the same teaching English to my students,” Suga laughs as he takes a sip of water. He’s had too much beer and still has to go to work tomorrow. “I really should study more.”

“No, no, English is easy because there’s only one writing system,” you grin. You must see the look on his face because you giggle. “Don’t look at me like that! I know it’s difficult, I’m only kidding. Maybe you should find a tutor.”

“A tutor?” 

It’s crossed his mind before, but being an elementary school teacher is no joke. He has to prepare for and teach a wide variety of subjects, and always keep ahead on almost everything. It’s tiring work, but the students are what pull him through, because he loves those little rascals.

“I’ve been looking for a tutor myself. I need to study kanji before my boss finds out I’m inadequate.” 

“You’re not inadequate,” Suga immediately answers with a shake of his head. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“You’re very kind,” you smile as you lean your chin on your hand, and Suga blames how cute you look with your rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes for his next question.

“Why don’t we teach each other?” You blink at his offer and tilt your head, and he almost tells you to stop looking so pretty because he can’t think. “We could meet once a week or something to practice together. I mean, if you want to.”

“Oh, I’d _love_ to,” you gush, and now it’s his turn for his cheeks to flush. You’re batting your long eyelashes at him, your lips curved up into a mischievous smile that makes his heart race. He isn’t sure why you’re looking at him like that, but he certainly isn’t complaining. “Does that mean you want to exchange numbers?”

 _I want to exchange much more than that_ , he thinks in a voice that sounds strangely like a mix of Nishinoya and Tanaka. He pushes it back down with a nod. “That would be great.”

He stares at his phone the entire subway ride home, the simple hello greeting from “Kanji Amateur” making him grin uncontrollably. 

*

You both start out meeting once a week. It’s not hard to find a time to meet, but it does start out pretty awkwardly. You don’t know exactly what to teach him because you aren’t sure of his English level, and he goes over a bunch of kanji you already know. But Suga is kind and really funny, making it easy to forget about the first awkwardness with the way he tells stories.

Once a week meetings at coffee shops become twice a week meetings that include your apartment, since it’s close to his elementary school and he can come quickly after school. Your thirty minute lessons become an hour that turn into dinners and drinks. It’s when the drinks start that things get dicey for you.

You’re not an idiot. You know how attractive Suga is, how fast your heart beats when he flashes you a smile. It’s easy to say your red cheeks are due to the beer you share before he goes home, but you can also blame it on the way his eyes flick down to your lips when he thinks you aren’t looking. 

Your friends all tell you to just bite the bullet and confess your crush on him, but how can you when you’re so distracted by the way his eyes nearly disappear whenever he sees you, the way his silver hair flops whenever he runs a hand through it? You don’t want to ruin the dynamic you both created over the past two months. It’s nice having him around, it’s nice hearing his fumbles and laughs whenever his accented English comes out incorrect.

But that resolve crumbles when he starts to touch you (not that you mind.) You cook for him one night, and rather than waiting at the table like he usually does, he stands behind you, watching you fry the garlic for pasta. His fingers ghost over your side like he’s afraid to grab you, but he’s close enough that you can feel both his warmth and his hesitation.

His voice is low and sultry when he asks in English, “Can I help you?”

 _You can bend me over this counter and fuck me_ , you want to scream back at him but you don’t. You manage to keep your wits about you (but god is it hard) and shake your head. 

“I’m okay,” you respond breathlessly as you add the shrimp to the pan. It sizzles, and Suga’s hand is immediately over yours, pulling you away as hot garlic begins to jump.

“Be careful,” he says close to your ear. It takes everything in you not to lean back into his embrace, to turn around and run your fingers through his hair so you can tug him closer and make him yours.

“Yeah, of course, sorry,” you mumble, and nearly whine when he pulls away. 

You don’t know how you make it through dinner, and you thank God you’d already studied beforehand, because as soon as Suga leaves, you fling yourself on your bed and imagine his hands on you. Imagine his heavy pants as he finger fucks you, mewls of ‘ _you’re such a good girl_ ’ in your ear as he circles your clit with his thumb. And when you orgasm, you imagine his flushed face on top of you, watching you with darkened eyes before he leans down to claim you. 

*

No matter what he wants to think, Suga isn’t a big risk taker. He always weighs his options carefully before making a decision, especially when it comes to other people’s feelings or reactions. That’s why he surprises himself when he takes one of the biggest leaps of his life.

It’s not your usual meeting day, he knows. But you’d said yesterday in a message that today was a rare day off, and it just so happens that his students also got to leave early, making his afternoon boring but completely open. He thinks maybe he should have thought about it more, but his fingers work faster than his brain.

 _Suga_ (13:42): Do you want to come to my school for lessons today? I’m free all afternoon.  
 _Kanji Amateur_ (13:45): Is that okay? Don’t you have class? I don’t want to intrude!  
 _Suga_ (13:47): Students went home for the day! (≧▽≦)  
 _Kanji Amateur_ (13:48): Okay, see you soon!

And less than a half an hour later, there you stand in front of his elementary school, waving at him as you step out of a taxi. You look so cute in your knee-length yellow skirt and white lacy blouse, hair pushed behind your ear. Suga’s heart jumps in his chest at the sight of you and he probably looks stupid as he hurries to greet you.

“Are you sure this is okay?” you ask as he begins to walk you into the building.

He isn’t sure himself. He didn’t exactly ask the principal or his higher-ups if he could invite someone, but if they find out, he can just say it’s a surprise visit from an old friend. “It’ll be fine. I'll show you my classroom!”

He takes you to the second floor where he works, and your face lights up as soon as you enter the room. He watches you spend a few minutes admiring the elementary art posted on the back wall before your lips tug into a smile at the twenty little desks around the room.

“Everything is so small,” you gush. “It brings back so many memories. Am I as good of a student as they are?”

“Better than most of them,” Suga jokes. “But give them the right prize and they all become ace students.”

“A prize?” you grin, and Suga sees the flirtation in it. It’s impossible to miss it. “Do I get a prize too?”

“If you’re a good girl,” he flirts back. Your cheeks flush the darkest red and it takes him aback, but you laugh it off with a wave, looking down at the kanji books in your hand. 

“What kind of prize do I get?”

“I usually give candy, but I’m not sure that’ll motivate you enough.”

“If it’s Kit Kats, it sure will,” you laugh as you pull up a chair on the opposite side of his desk. Suga takes a seat in his plush chair and rolls closer to see the books you’ve been working on. “But can I ask for something else?”

He looks up at you with a perplexed look. “What do you want?”

You look like you’re fighting with yourself. Your eyebrows furrow and your lips purse then drop again. Then, in the quietest voice, you manage: “How about a kiss?”

It’s Suga’s turn to beet red, flushing enough that even his ears go hot. His heart clamors in his chest, his fingers itching to lean over the desk and kiss you anyway, but he doesn’t. He answers with a firm nod and a cracking, “Okay, perfect.”

You don’t look up at him as you open your books, but there’s a sly smile on your face that Suga wants to wipe off. There’s a surge of confidence in him, like he’s back on the volleyball court and just made the perfect toss. “Why don’t we have a quiz then?”

“A quiz?” It obviously piques your interest.

“I’ll ask you a kanji and if you write it correctly, I’ll give you what you want.” For some reason, he can’t say kiss. It just won’t leave his mouth.

You nod—eagerly, he notices—and he opens one of his cabinets to take out a small white board and marker. You sit up straight in your chair and push a lock of hair behind your ear, looking the part of a perfect student ready to learn. It makes him want to bend you over his desk and show you just what good girls get.

“Okay, ready?”

You nod again and the quiz begins. He gives you an easy one, so easy that it doesn’t even take you five seconds to write the answer. For your reward, he leans over and presses a kiss to the crown of your head, a small peck that makes you pout.

“Patience,” he laughs and asks you a second. This one takes a bit longer but you end up at the right answer, and he rewards you with a kiss to your forehead.

The third kanji you get wrong, and when you get the fourth right, he presses another kiss to the crown of your head.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” you protest, but he cuts you off with a shake of his head.

“I’m the teacher, I make the rules.”

“Okay _sensei_ , give me the fifth one.”

You calling him teacher shouldn’t affect him so much, but it does. Something stirs within Suga’s stomach, something he’s been feeling for the last month. The same feeling that makes him jerk off in his bathroom sometimes after your meetings, wishing it was your hand wrapped around his cock instead of his own.

He clears his throat to snap himself out of it and gives you a fifth, then a sixth, and a seventh, all of which you get right. His lips have come to your cheek now, and he can sense a shift in the air. Though you try to hide it, your breathing is slightly heavier, your eyes focused on his as he pulls back. 

“I won’t go easy on you,” he whispers, and your breath hitches before you nod your acceptance.

His eighth kanji is a difficult one but a content smirk rises to your face. You write it almost immediately and show off the board like a proud teacher’s pet. “I just learned this one yesterday from a book.”

“Did you now?” he muses as he stands up. His eyes bore into yours but he doesn’t lean closer. His thumb traces over your jaw before it settles on your bottom lip, softly tugging it down so he can see into your mouth. The heat in the room is stifling, sweat dripping down his back from the effort to contain himself. You look so good beneath him like that, mouth slightly parted like you’re waiting for his fingers or his tongue or even his cock. Then he feels your tongue on the pad of his thumb and he can’t contain a low groan when you close your lips over the tip of his finger and suck.

“Shit,” he whispers before he pulls his thumb from your mouth and grabs hold of your neck. He tugs you to your feet with almost no effort before he leans over and finally, _finally_ puts his lips on yours.

Your lips feel so good against his, your tongue wasting no time in tangling with his as soon as he parts your lips. You have a hand in his shirt and another against the table as you lean into him, your teeth grazing his bottom lip and making him groan. The rational part of his brain—the one telling him _this is your workplace, idiot_ —is drowned out as soon as he pulls back and sees the blissed out look on your face, the way your lips part for breath.

It’s awkward for a moment as he lets you go and goes around the table, but he knocks the books off his desk and helps you sit on the edge. A hand on your thigh forces your legs open and he slips in between, immediately pressing your lips together again. Your muffled groan goes straight to his cock, and his fingers dance under your skirt, squeezing your inner thighs hard enough to make you squeal.

He can barely catch his breath when you pull back, and it gets worse when you whisper, “I want to touch you so badly.”

God, he wants nothing more than that. Wants nothing more than to make you come under his touch, make you whine his name as he fucks you. But his rational brain wins out the moment he hears a door scrape open down the hall. 

“Here is probably a bad idea,” he laments but doesn’t pull away from you. “Or else I’d already have you bent over my desk.” His fingers brush against the fabric of your panties, and you both moan. You from the feeling, him from realizing just how wet you are without him doing much of anything. 

Your fingers help fix his rumpled shirt, your eyes flicking up to him dangerously. “Do you have a desk at your apartment?”

He lets you go, shaking his head. “Unfortunately no.”

“I do,” you remind him and the pictures in his brain immediately start. You bending over it, your eyes staring back at him as he kneads your ass. Fuck. Why does the work day have to be so long? 

“As soon as I get off work,” he tells you, and your happy giggle makes him grin. 

He sees you off a few minutes later before he settles into his chair, placing a hand on his forehead to calm himself down. He can’t believe he just made out with you in his classroom of all places, and then invited himself over to sleep with you. Maybe it’s due to the messy breakup with his ex-girlfriend. _You’re too nice for your own good_ , she had told him before walking out the door, whatever that meant. They had always been on different wavelengths, he can at least admit that, but that hurt more than Suga cares to admit.

All thoughts of his ex leave his mind the moment he gets another text from you.

 _Kanji Amateur_ (15:02): Don’t be late.  
 _Kanji Amaetur_ (15:03): _attached photo_

And there you are, clad in your wet panties, skirt hiked up as you bend over your desk. It’s a perfect view of your ass and it makes him want to reach through the screen and smack it. His pants are a bit tighter, and he has to take a few deep breaths to calm himself down. 

_Suga_ (15:05): Naughty girl. I’m still at work.  
 _Kanji Amateur_ (15:06): I’m sorry, sensei. Please teach me how to be a good girl.

Oh, he certainly will.

*

You usually aren’t this bold of a person. Sure, you’d wanted Suga for a while now, wanted to feel his body pressed up against yours, wanted to feel his cock drilling into you. But you’re definitely not one to make out at an _elementary school_ of all places, let alone plan a fuck session as soon as he gets off work. Still, that doesn’t stop you from immediately jumping into the shower as soon as you get back to your apartment, making sure every bit of you is cleaned and ready.

You listen to music while you dry and style your hair, do a light makeup, ignore the fluttering in your stomach once it hits 5PM. You put on your cutest matching black lingerie (saved for a moment just like this, thankfully) underneath a dark green dress that comes to your mid-thigh. You don’t plan to be in it for long anyway but you still pick something that’ll be easy for Suga’s warm hands to grab at your thighs again. 

_Suga_ (17:16): On my way, pretty girl.

 _Pretty girl_. It makes your cheeks hot and a smile come to your face. You feel like you’re back in high school again, waiting for your crush outside the school gates. It’s the same fluttery feeling that’s currently in your stomach. You like him. Suga is nice, fun to talk to, a comfortable presence in your home and in your life. And Suga is also currently on his way over to show you another side of him, one that makes you shift in your seat and rub your thighs together. 

He takes a bit longer to show up than usual but all is forgiven the moment he lifts the takeout sushi and bottle of wine he has in his hands. 

“What are we celebrating?” you ask as soon as the wine is poured into two glasses. 

Suga considers an answer for a moment before he grins, his eyes disappearing. “Your nearly perfect quiz score?” 

Whatever the reason to celebrate, you don’t mind the little extra liquid courage the wine gives you. You eat together on your little coffee table, sitting on the floor across from each other. He hasn’t touched you since he arrived but his eyes do the talking for him. The way he glances at you over his wine glass, the way he just so happens to brush his leg against yours, the “coincidence” of going for the same piece of sushi just so he can touch your hand. Koushi Sugawara knows what he’s doing and he knows how much it’s affecting you. That’s why he’s making you wait, the anticipation building over lively conversation that has nothing to do with the lewd act from earlier.

Once you both polish off the bottle of wine and the sushi, you stand up to go rinse the glasses out in the kitchen. Your heart skips when you hear Suga’s light footsteps following you, and you don’t even get the chance to turn the faucet on before his arms trap you against the counter. Your breath hitches when his body presses up against yours, his fingers dragging your hair behind your ear so he can whisper into it.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” He teases, fingers trailing down the side of your neck. “You’ve been looking so needy all dinner.”

“I’m sorry,” you respond, but you don’t know why you’re apologizing. Suga seems to like it though, because his hand slips under your arm and his fingers trace along your exposed collarbones. 

“My good girl, you’ve been so patient,” he tells you lowly, and he doesn’t miss the way your body shudders against his. “Oh? Do you like that? Being called my good girl?”

“Yes,” you manage to breathe out, and he rewards you by tilting her chin toward his and claiming your lips.

It has the same intensity as the ones from earlier but this time, it’s slower. More languid. You have time to explore each other’s mouths without the worry of someone walking in. Your tongues dance together slowly and you try to turn to face him, but he keeps you tight against the counter. He chuckles as he pulls away from you, his hot breath fanning your lips, eyes dark as he stares down at you. 

“I like you this way.” His hands move under your dress to your thighs, squeezing the flesh between his hands. “So open for me.” He nudges your legs slightly further apart; his fingers dance to your panties and run along your core, making you mewl and rock towards his fingers. “Already so ready.”

“I want to see you,” you gasp as his fingers move your panties aside and run up and down your already wet slit. “Please.”

He doesn’t oblige. You can feel his smirk against your exposed neck and he bites sharply enough to make you gasp. He runs his tongue over the spot like he’s soothing you before he bites again and sucks. You know he’s going to leave a mark and for some reason, that makes your core throb. 

“You look so good like this,” he whispers to you gently, and his fingers are just as gentle as he slides two of them into your already slick heat.

They’re so much bigger than yours, filling you up so much better than your own fingers can. His tongue and teeth haven’t stopped their assault on your neck and the pace he sets with his fingers makes you mewl and arch back into him. You push your body against his, resting your head against his shoulder, grinding your ass into the already hard bulge in his slacks. From this position, his fingers hit even deeper, and your legs shake when his thumb grazes against your throbbing clit. 

“Right there,” you gasp when he brushes it again. His free hand comes from around you and cups your clothed breast, squeezing and kneading as he works his fingers faster.

“What do good girls say?” he asks. His voice is low, dangerous, and makes you clench around his fingers.

“Please, _please_ ,” you practically beg.

You expect him to listen but he nearly rips his fingers out of you, his others hand dropping from your chest. You don’t have time to whine or ask him why; strong hands on your hips move you over to the desk you have against the wall of your living room. Books clatter to the floor when he pushes them aside and he helps you onto the surface, just like he did in his classroom. His wet fingers cup your chin as he kisses you again, teeth grazing over your bottom lip and making you whimper. 

Then he pulls away and gives you a daring smile before he drops to his knees. 

“Suga?” you gasp, but he doesn’t answer. He grabs the hem of your dress and offers it to you, that smile still on his face.

“Hold this and don’t let go.”

“Huh?” You know you sound dumb as you grip your skirt like he requests.

“Don’t let go,” he repeats before he pushes your panties aside and sets his mouth on you. 

His tongue flattens against your puffy folds and he licks a slow stripe up from bottom to top. You moan and try to squirm toward him, fingers tightening in your skirt, eyes half-lidded as you stare down at him. He opens your folds with practiced fingers and his lips immediately attach to your clit, his tongue rolling over the nub. His eyes close as he moans into your heat, his tongue swiping over and over, making you throw your head back against the wall with a gasp. 

Your entire body feels like it’s on fire, the pleasure coiling in your stomach growing hotter once he pushes those two fingers back into you. He must sense your impending orgasm because his fingers work faster, sucking your clit hard enough to make you squeal. 

“Close, close,” you babble, your other hand coming into his silky locks and tugging him closer. There’s a part of you that feels bad but it disappears when he groans into your core again, his fingers curling until he hits a sweet spot that makes you arch off the wall and shudder into him. Moans and whimpers of his name spill from your mouth as you come, your thighs quivering around his face as he pulls his mouth off of you.

“Fuck, you’re pretty,” he mutters in English, kissing his way down your inner thigh until he bites the sensitive flesh halfway to your knee. You squeal and finally let go of your dress, dazed eyes watching him stand up. His lips and chin are wet with your slick but he doesn’t wipe it away. He carefully unbuttons his dress shirt and throws it to the side with his undershirt. 

Suga had told you he played volleyball in high school and in the community league during college, and his body certainly reflects that. His arms are muscular, his toned stomach immediately attracting your shaking hands. You run your hands over his pale flesh, relishing in the way he sucks in a breath and stares down at you with darkened eyes.

“What do you want, baby girl?”

“I want to touch you,” you whisper back, grabbing his belt and tugging him between your legs again. He falls forward enough that you can bring your lips to his as you mess with his buckle, trying to get it open. He laughs against your lips before he pulls back to watch your clumsy hands work. 

“Do you need help?”

“No!” You pout, but maybe you do, because you can’t get it open after two tries. Finally, on the third, it loosens and you’re able to unbutton his slacks so he can tug them down. 

You stare at his erect length once he kicks his pants and boxers to the side, licking your lips at the small bead of precum on the tip. The need to put it in your mouth suddenly overwhelms you. You slide to the floor, eyes staring up at him as you wrap a hand around the base of his cock. Your eyes are on his as you kitten lick the tip then run your tongue all around the head. Suga’s chest shudders with his quiet groan, and you wish you could take a picture of this moment, because he looks so gorgeous with his parted and swollen lips, his sweaty hair, and your cum still on his face.

You lick from his base to his tip, just like he did for you, before you take his length into your mouth. One of his hands tangles into your hair at the back of your head and forces you deeper, not that you’re complaining. Your tongue swirls around him as you bob up and down, taking as much as you can, groaning around him when he nearly hits the back of your throat.

“Feels good,” he pants and tightens his grip on your hair. The slight pain from the tug sends a jolt through your throbbing and wet pussy. “Such a good girl.”

His husky praise sends a ripple down your spine and you suck him harder, a free hand moving to his ass to squeeze and hold him closer. You hollow out your cheeks around him, tongue running under the ridge of his head, and that’s when he pulls you back with a jerk. Your mouth is still open as you stare up at him curiously. His cheeks are tinted pink, his chest heaving for breaths, but there’s a satisfied grin on his face even though he hasn’t come yet.

“I can’t wait anymore,” he tells you, and you’re immediately on your feet again. He helps you out of your dress ( _finally_ , you think but don’t say), but pauses to look at you in your lingerie. “You look so good, pretty girl.” He compliments, fingers running over the straps of your bra before he snaps it against your skin. He pushes you back to your desk again, his fingers trailing over the edge of the cups where the fabric meets your skin. “Should I fuck you with these still on?”

Your fingers grab onto his shoulders and bring him closer, smashing your lips together as your answer. You don’t care how he fucks you, as long as he’s in you as soon as possible. Suga seems to have changed his mind though, because nimble fingers unclasp your bra then tug it off. Your panties go next and you barely have time to orient yourself when he turns you around and forces your chest onto the desk underneath you. 

You glance back at him as he rummages through his pants pocket for a condom and bite your lip as he tears the packet open. You shake your ass at him with a teasing grin as he slips the rubber on and it earns you a sharp slap on the ass. You gasp as he smacks the other side before he grabs your hips to bring you back against him.

“Good girls don’t tease.”

“I’ve been a bad girl.” You play along. Something in his face darkens and makes your pussy throb again, shifting your hips to push back against his hard dick. 

“Then I’ll have to punish you, my bad girl,” he tells you before he pushes his entire length into you. 

You gasp at the stretch, rocking your hips back into his, and he only gives you a moment to adjust before he snaps his hips again. The pace he sets is quick, meant to teach you a lesson after teasing all night. A string of moans escapes your mouth as you rock against the desk, the wood against the wall clattering with his forceful movements. One of his hands pushes down on your back, forcing you further into the desk, while the other snakes around and finds your clit again.

The whine you let out is even louder than the desk, your fingernails digging into the wood. “Koushi, please.”

You don’t even realize you say his first name but the choked moan he gives indicates he heard you loud and clear. His fingers rub even faster, his hand on your back moving to your hip and holding you hard enough to bruise. Your entire body sings with pleasure, the heat you felt earlier coming back ten-fold as he pinches and rubs your swollen clit. You bite your finger to keep from yelling as you feel your orgasm building but a quick smack to your ass makes you drop it.

“I want to hear you, good girl,” he says through labored pants. “Who is making you feel this good?”

“You are!” You manage to whine as you try to meet his thrusts to bring your orgasm quicker. 

“My name, say my name.”

“Koushi! Koushi, fuck!” Your orgasm crashes over you and makes your entire body quake underneath him, your eyes squeezed tight as stars burst behind your eyelids. He helps you ride out the wave before he pulls away from your clit, both hands grabbing onto your hips as he slams into you. He doesn’t last much longer, coming a choked cry of your name mixed with a few expletives. 

His hands loosen on your hips as you both fight to catch your breath, and you manage to look back at him from the corner of your eye. He looks positively fucked out, a strangely shy smile on his face as he looks down at you, eyes full of love.

“Are you okay?” He questions, running a gentle hand over your ass cheeks. “I didn’t hurt you?”

“Quite the opposite,” you giggle, and it makes him laugh.

You let out a faint groan when he pulls his limp cock from you, and he only leaves you to tie the condom and throw it out. Then he helps you to your bathroom because you’re sure that if you tried to walk yourself, your legs would give out on you. He helps you wash your back and you help him wash his hair, and your heart races the entire time as you both steal kisses and giggles.

He doesn’t stay the night, as much as both of you want it, because you both have to work and he needs a change of clothes. But halfway out the front door, he stops and turns to you with a large smile. “Let’s go back to the karaoke place this Friday.”

“You want to go back?” You tilt your head with a curious expression. “You didn’t sing last time.”

“This time I will.”

He vows it so passionately, and seals it with a kiss, so you can’t help but agree. 

*  
  
The bar is just as packed as it was the first time he came here. Suga manages to get a small table near the right wall, and none too soon, because all the seats are taken minutes after he arrives. You’re still not here but Dave sits to his right (not that he was explicitly invited), looking like the Cheshire cat as he sips his beer.

“If you’re going to look at me like that, you might as well go home,” Suga complains with a side-eye. 

“And miss the action? After I helped you prepare? I think not.” 

It’s true that Dave helped him. The invitation for karaoke had been a last minute decision, so the next day he had gone straight to Dave and asked for his help learning English lyrics. Suga is sure he never wants to hear an Ed Sheeran song again with how much he’s practiced and drilled pronunciation isn’t his brain over the last few days. Nerves begin to get the better of him the longer you don't show up (though he’s sure you’re coming, you said you were on the way) and he almost spills his beer on his shirt by taking too large of a gulp.

“Don’t embarrass yourself now, she’s here,” Dave jokes as he smacks Suga’s back a few times to keep him from choking.

You wave as you spot the two men and Suga can only stare as you approach. How can someone make jeans and a nice shirt look so attractive? His heart is beating wildly in his chest, his cheeks tinting the slightest pink he hopes you don’t notice.

“Sorry I’m late,” you greet as soon as you take a seat to his left. “Nice to see you again, Dave.”

“I won’t stay long, promise. Don’t wanna third wheel it.” Dave tells you in English, and Suga racks his brain to think of what the hell a “third wheel” could possibly be. 

There’s light chit-chat, flirtatious banter between the two of you, and you don’t brush off Suga’s hand when he lightly grips the top of your thigh. Soon the lights dim and the announcer tells the crowd it’s time to start. And first on the list is Suga himself (because he made sure of it when he called yesterday to ask.) 

His nerves are in overdrive and he’s sweating through his t-shirt already, but he takes a deep breath and gives the English speech he’s been practicing for days. 

“My English is not good,” he begins. Someone in the back yells, _it’s good to me_! “But I have a tutor and she is, um. She is my pretty girl. I will sing this song for her so please listen.” 

He begins the tune and his eyes never leave yours. Half because he’s nervous as hell with all the people staring at him and half because he can see the amazed smile and tears shining in your eyes even from the stage. When he finishes, he bows and nearly zooms off the stage as people clap and cheer around him. Dave whispers something to you then disappears with his beer, leaving you alone at the table. 

“Was that okay?” he tentatively asks when he finally reaches his seat again. 

There’s a breathlessness in your voice when you answer, “More than okay. I didn’t know you were such a good singer.”

“I practiced with Dave,” he laughs then clears his throat. It’s now or never. “Because, well. I wanted to let you know my feelings.”

You lean toward him, placing your chin on a hand as you stare up at him. “Okay but I’ll only accept if you tell me in English.”

His brain short circuits. He hasn’t practiced that. Only his little speech and the song. His mouth opens and closes as he searches for something to say, then he blurts out: “You are my girlfriend. Please say yes.”

You laugh loudly, placing your free hand over your mouth, and Suga thinks for a moment that he fucked up. But then your lips are on his and he melts into your touch, into the warm of you pressed up against him.

You pull away just enough to answer in Japanese, “Then you’re my boyfriend. No take backs.”

“Never,” he promises, and he means it.

Then he leans in and seals it with another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KOUSHI SUGAWARA SUPREMACY   
> next chapter is Hinata/Reader but uhhh... spoiler alert, it's straight smut about pegging so if you're not into that, you might want to skip a week


	4. An Unexpected Request (Shouyou Hinata/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hinata hits you with a strange request, but you agree anyway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like i said before, this chapter includes pegging? so if you're not into that, maybe skip this week :)  
> there's also two other smut scenes leading up to it if you want to read those and then dip out (though pegging is mentioned)  
> i also kinda feel like hinata is a bit ooc, so sorry ;;;  
> fem!reader, 8.6K words (somebody stop me)

You hadn’t been working long at the cozy little bar in Higashiosaka when you met Shouyou Hinata. The volleyball player was tough to miss with his loud voice and excitable personality. He had come into your bar by chance a few months prior (thanks to a bad storm that forced them to take shelter) with two of his fellow teammates, and you had somehow gotten dragged into their lively conversation about  _ the celebrity you most want to punch in the face _ . 

Bokuto and Atsumu had been back a handful of times, but Hinata came much more than that. The wing spiker couldn’t  _ really  _ handle his alcohol, always tapping out after one or two drinks, but he stayed to talk to you long after his glass sat empty. It was strange how the man wormed his way onto your favorite customer list. You looked forward to his visits, liked hearing his stories about how the Black Jackals practices went, missed him when he traveled out of town for away games. But Hinata always made sure to visit within three days of returning back to Osaka (“Because I have so many more stories to tell you and the guys have heard them all already!” he told you once when you asked.)

Today is no different. It’s just past 10 PM when the bell above the door rings and Hinata steps into the dimly lit room, waving a hand to you in greeting. But today, you notice almost immediately, there is something off about him. His usually bright expression is replaced with a pout and he bites his bottom lip as he saunters forward and takes a seat in front of you at the bar. He’s the only patron you have, minus a cozy couple in the corner that you’re sure is more transaction than date. 

“Let me make you a cocktail,” you offer before he can even speak.

There’s the smile you know and love, even if it’s more subdued than his normal ones. “Thanks! That would be great.”

You decide on an old fashioned, maybe in part because you hope it’ll warm him up, and maybe in part because he’s the only customer you trust enough to drink with and it’s one of your favorites. When you’re finished, you pour out the glasses and give one to him, keeping the other for yourself. You lift yours in a toast and take a small sip, but Hinata nearly chugs half of it before setting it back down.

“Bad day?” you ask him with a raised eyebrow.

There’s a flush on his cheeks that you’re not sure is from the warmth of the alcohol or something else. “Actually I had a great day!”

“Then why do you look like someone killed your dog?”

“I don’t have a dog.”

You sigh. “ _ Hinata _ .”

“Okay, okay,” he smiles but it looks awkward. Nervous. “But you have to promise you won’t judge me, okay?”

A strange lead-in, but alright. “I won’t.”

“After practice, in the locker room, I was talking to Bokuto-san. We got on the topic of, um.” Hinata goes beet red and it would be endearing to you if he didn’t finish with a whispered, “anal sex.”

The topic of sex had come up between you and the boys before but never this explicitly. A dirty joke here, a game of  _ fuck, marry, kill _ there. Atsumu never missed a chance to brag about his exploits (that you’re sure aren’t as miraculous as he tries to make them seem) and Bokuto had chimed in here and there with his own stories. But Hinata usually just laughed along with them, watching the two men talk with wide eyes, like he was drinking in their experiences for himself.

“Oh.” You offer lamely. Your own cheeks are a bit warm at the sudden topic. “What about it?” 

“How are you so calm!” Hinata whines. “Am I the only one feeling awkward?”

“You need to tell me what’s bothering you before I can be embarrassed, Hinata.” You laugh airily and take a sip of your drink. You feel like you’ll need another one the way this conversation is going. 

“Well, he said that it feels really good, right? And that I should try it.”

_ What is he getting at?  _

“You’re an attractive guy. I’m sure someone will let you try it with them.”

“That’s not what—” He stops, frowns, runs a hand through his freshly washed orange hair. Then he finishes the rest of his drink and holds the glass in front of his face to block his red cheeks. “Hemeantgettingitdonetoyou.”

“I’m sorry?” You raise an eyebrow.

“He meant getting it done to you! You know…” 

Hinata doesn’t say it but the word flashes in your mind anyway.  _ Pegging _ . Is that what he’s talking about? You can help the embarrassed giggle that falls from your lips.

“Before this conversation goes on, I need to know how exactly this came up.”

“Can I have a refill first, please? Pretty please?” He asks with a pout, and you can’t say no to those eyes. You make him another drink and top yours off as well before gesturing at him to continue.

“Well, you can really blame Atsumu-san because he’s the one who mentioned it first. Something about his ex-girlfriend, I don’t remember, but then Bokuto-san said,  _ they have to know what they’re doing, _ and then he looked at me. Right at me!” It’s hard to follow his ramble with how quickly and over-exaggerated he’s speaking but you listen intently, nodding your head at him to continue. “He asked,  _ chibi-chan, you’ve never done that before _ ? Of course I haven’t! And then he offered to have Akaashi-san help me and pulled out his phone.”

You have to hide your laugh behind a hand. You don’t want Hinata to think you’re laughing at him, but you can practically visualize the three idiots having this exact conversation after practice. 

“Well? Did you accept?”

“No I didn’t!” he denies. You aren’t sure if he’s grimacing because he’s regretting it or because you think he would accept. “So they told me to come to talk to you.”

“Why would you want to talk to me about it?”

“Well, because—” Hinata pauses, eyes you for a second, then downs his second glass before yelling: “Please help me!”

It takes you a very long time to understand what he’s asking for help with. His eyes don’t waver as he stares intensely at you and you have to suppress a shiver. He’s looking at you like you’re a volleyball game waiting to be won, like he’s down three points and determined to make up the difference. And finally,  _ finally _ , when the rusty cogs in your brain start moving, you figure it out.

“Hinata, wait, wait,” you manage to stutter. What the  _ fuck _ ? “Are you asking me…” You look around to make sure the other two patrons aren’t looking before you lean forward and whisper. “Are you asking me... to peg you?”

He nods excitedly, the grin on his face much too innocent for  _ what the hell he just asked you _ .

“Isn’t it a thing girls do to guys? I looked it up online on the way over here and that’s what it says!”

“Hinata.” You deadpan. This boy is going to make you lose your mind. “Don’t you have any other friends you can ask?”

“I don’t have any girl friends! Who else should I ask?”

“Ask one of your close guy friends, they can probably help you better than I can,” you joke. The glass in front of you seems awfully interesting all of a sudden. “Have you thought this through? I mean,  _ really  _ thought this through?”

You learned quite quickly that Hinata is a bit impulsive, always living by the edge of his seat. He likes to make decisions at the last minute, isn't well-versed in considering different options around him. The frankness is usually endearing, you know, when he isn’t asking for sexual favors. 

“Of course! I asked you because I like you!” Are you imagining the shy smile on his face or is it just the lighting? “I trust you too, and, well, you’re a girl.”

You set a hand over your eyes, closing them to think. You can’t say you’re completely disinterested. You’re both single, and you have been for over a year now (something Atsumu likes to tease you about, the ass.) Hinata is attractive, grown into his muscles after years of hard training, and he makes you laugh and smile every time he swings by. But at the same time, he’s one of your regulars and if things go south, you’ll miss that connection dearly. And you haven’t slept with Hinata before, so you don’t know what he likes, don’t know what kind of person he is in bed. Plus, you’ve never exactly pegged a guy before and you have to do research of your own if you want to— _ wait a minute _ .

“Can I have some time to think about it?” The question tumbles out of your mouth before you can catch it.

“Yeah, sure!” Hinata brightens at your non-refusal. “We leave for Tokyo in two days so I can give you a week! Is that enough time?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” you nod, managing not to stutter your answer. 

Hinata stumbles out of the bar a bit later with a wave and a promise to text you while he’s gone. As you wave back, the only question on your mind is:  _ what the hell did I just get myself into? _

_ * _

Hinata is true to his word, texting you as soon as he gets to Tokyo and their accommodations for the upcoming match. You’d given your number to all three of the MSBY boys, but Bokuto and Atsumu had never messaged you. Only Hinata, with his little quips of things he says remind him of you, or little updates about his day, or cute emojis in response to your question of “How was practice?”

That’s why you’re a bit confused when he sends you a selfie. 

He’s sitting in his hotel bed, leaning against the headboard with a smile large enough to make his eyes disappear. He still has a towel around his neck, hair flattened down from his shower, and you can see Bokuto lounging around on his own bed thanks to the awkward angle. But it’s endearing anyway and his “ _ Finally relaxing! ʕ￫ᴥ￩ʔ _ ” message makes you smile.

You decide to send him back a selfie too, one of you in your pajama shirt and old shorts from the couch, your hair pushed back behind a hairband, a mud mask on your face.

_ You  _ (21:54): I don’t look as cute as you though!

_ Hinata  _ (21:55): Don’t lie! You look very cute!! 

_ Hinata  _ (21:55): Bokuto-san agrees!

_ Hinata  _ (21:55): I want to do a mud mask too.

_ You  _ (21:56): When you come back, we can do one together.

_ Hinata  _ (21:57): Really?! Cool! Don’t forget you promised!

You didn’t promise anything but you’re not going to tell him that.

He texts you the next day as innocently as the previous, but it’s the second night, after his volleyball match, when things get heated.

_ Hinata  _ (00:43): We won! Did you see?

_ Hinata  _ (00:43): Wait, are you sleeping? Oh no!! I’m sorry!  ＼(º □ º l|l)/

_ You  _ (00:45): It’s okay, I’m awake! I just got home from work. I saw your game on TV. You played great!

_ Hinata  _ (00:45): Can I call you?

Call? You’ve never spoken on the phone before and it makes your heart skip for a reason you’re unsure of. Then the reason becomes clear a second later: he’s  _ video  _ calling you.

Panic sets in for a moment and you look all around you. It had been a slow day at work so you weren't overly tired, but you had changed into your pajamas and flopped onto your couch as soon as you came home, nursing a glass of wine. The phone vibrates in your hand a few more times before you accept his call, holding the phone up to get your best angle.

Hinata fumbles with his own phone for a second before his happy grin and flushed face come into view. He’s back at his hotel room but doesn’t look showered like before. In fact, he’s sweaty and glistening in the room’s crappy lighting. 

“Hi!” He chirps with a wave of his free hand.

“Hi,” you smile back. “You look happy.”

“The team went out for drinks after the win! Bokuto-san met Akaashi-san so he isn’t here either. I came back early with Sakusa-san because I wanted to talk to you.”

“You should have stayed longer. We can talk any time.”

“ _ No _ ,” he emphasizes with a shake of his head. You idly wonder how much he’s had to drink, the lightweight. “I wanted to ask you a question. Have you thought about what I asked you before I left?”

It’s the drinks making him so forward, you realize, but it still makes your cheeks heat up at the bluntness. Of course you have. It’s all you’ve been thinking about the last couple days since Hinata left. You had searched about it online, watched a few porn videos to get a feel for it, and curiosity had taken hold of your brain, conjuring images that made your core throb with want. But the doubts still plagued you, worries over your casual friendship and inadequacy on the tail end of any fantasy you had.

“I have,” you answered simply.

“Okay  _ good _ , because I’ve been thinking about it nonstop and I can’t get it out of my head now that I brought it up, so maybe we could meet up when I come back, I’ll be back tomorrow night and—”

“Whoa, Hinata, slow down,” you beg him. “I haven’t even agreed yet.”

“Oh,” he offers, face dropping slightly. “Is it a no?”

“It’s not that, it’s just—” How can you explain simply? “I don’t know what you like. We haven’t slept together before and if I do agree, I want to make it a good experience for you.”

“Then we can sleep together first!” Hinata exclaims happily. It’s like he’s discussing plans for dinner, not plans to stick his dick in you. He doesn’t give you time to react before he adds, “In fact, why don’t I show you right now?”

“What?!”

The volleyball player fumbles with his camera for a moment before he comes into view again, but this time you can see everything from his knees to the top of his head. He’s grinning with excitement, eyes wide as he starts to slide his shirt off.

“Hinata!” you practically screech, nearly dropping your phone. “What are you doing!”

He pauses midway through taking his shirt off. His torso is sturdy but lean and immediately your eyes are drawn to the milky skin you can see. 

“You said you don’t know what I like, so I thought if I show you, it might help you make a decision.”

You understand that, you really do. But everything feels so sudden, enough that it takes your breath away. When you don’t answer, he slips his shirt completely off and gives you a full view of his naked chest. You lick your lips as you stare, mouth suddenly dry, heat flipping your stomach. His eyes have changed, you notice as soon as you two look at each other. Even from the other side of a camera, you can see a burning look that you recognize from on the court.  _ Has he done this before _ ?

You aren’t sure what to do with your hands. It feels weirdly voyeuristic to be only watching him as his finger trails from his collarbone to one of his nipples, circling around it and making the faintest noise. Does he want you to touch yourself too?

You make the decision before your brain can tell you it’s a bad idea. “Wait,” you breathe out and hurry to fix your own phone. You prop it against a cup and lean back on your couch, making sure that Hinata can see you from your head to your knees. “There, that’s better.”

“You’re going to join too?!” he squeaks out. His fingers haven’t stopped pinching and rubbing his nipples since you started and there’s a prominent bulge in his loose shorts that you can’t take your eyes off of. You make note of that to use for later.

“If you want me to,” you respond, undoing the buttons slowly, just in case he tells you to stop.

“Yes, yes, I do.” He hurries to answer, one of his hands ghosting down his stomach. Even in the bad lighting, you can see his flushed cheeks and hear the way his breathing has begun to speed up. 

You swallow down your nervousness and undo the rest of your nightshirt, letting the flaps open so Hinata can see your bare chest. His eyes widen slightly as you follow his lead, fingers pinching at your nipples until they’re hard and sending electric waves straight to your pussy. 

“Oh wow,” you hear him mutter to himself and then there’s a rustling from his end.

He sits in only checkered boxers with a very prominent bump. His eyes haven’t left your body, but there’s a delicious flush on his cheeks that makes you wish he was actually in front of you. He palms his covered dick with a hiss, his other hand moving around his toned stomach.

You follow his lead, nearly ripping off your shorts to show him your (very unsexy) cotton panties. You weren’t expecting this to happen when you had changed but Hinata doesn’t seem to care at all.

“C-can you take them off too?” he stutters. He still has a determined gleam in his eyes but his voice is much quieter than before. 

“Sure,” you oblige and shimmy out of your panties next, leaving your pussy exposed for him to see. “What else do you want me to do, Hinata?” you ask in a deep voice, one of your fingers trailing over your folds. You’re already decently wet just from watching him.

“I… I don’t know, um.” 

He’s flustered, both of his hands stopping their motions. Something itches at the back of your mind. Could it be that Hinata doesn’t like taking the lead? Is that what he likes after all?

“Maybe you could—”

You cut him off. “Take off your boxers.”

Hinata doesn’t say anything as he immediately follows your command. Your eyes are immediately drawn to his hard cock, the way it curves up over his pubic hair and rests against his lower stomach. He looks a bit hesitant to go any further and it answers your earlier question. Shouyou Hinata likes to be ordered around.

“Wrap your hand around your pretty cock, Hinata. I want to see you touch yourself.”

“Ah—” He squeaks, obeying your command. A beautiful groan leaves his lips as soon as he grabs the base of his dick, his fingers pumping slowly as he watches you. He looks so good with his red face and heaving chest. You just want to ruin him.

Your own fingers dip into your folds to gather some of your slick before you circle your clit slowly, in time with his jerks. He moans at the sight and you can see his arm muscles flex as he begins to move faster. With your other hand, you spread your lips for him and slowly push a finger inside yourself, both of you whimpering at the same time. Once you’re wet enough a second finger joins and your eyes flutter closed for a moment at the feeling.

“God I wish these were your fingers,” you moan for him, fingers circling your clit faster. You usually take longer than this but there’s a familiar heat stirring in your stomach already, threatening to spill over if he keeps looking at you with those burning eyes.

“You do?” he asks. It’s hard to hear him over the sound of his panting.

“ _ Yes _ , please, I want you to fuck me so bad.”

The choked groan he gives in response makes your pussy clench around your fingers. You’re both moving faster now, matching each other’s rhythms. Hinata swipes his thumb over his leaking head and whimpers, biting down on his bottom lip as he works his own length. 

“Don’t you want that too?” you chance, fingers rubbing your clit faster, your next question breathy and higher-pitched. “Do you want to fuck my pussy, Shouyou?”

“Yes,  _ yes _ ,” he groans. With the way his hand is moving, his other hand teasing a nipple, you know his orgasm is quickly approaching.

“Then say it.”

“I-I want to fuck your pussy so bad,  _ please _ ,” he chokes, his body beginning to shake. 

“Are you going to cum for me?” You’re not far off, the building heat in your stomach making your toes curl and legs shake as you fuck yourself faster. “Are you, baby? Tell me.”

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming,” he chants, eyes squeezed shut tightly as ropes of his cum splash against his stomach. His mouth hangs open with a loud groan, hand thrown back again the headboard as he milks his own orgasm to completion. 

Holy  _ shit _ , this might just be the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. The image of him fucked out and covered in his own cum is one you’ll never forget. With a choked cry, your own orgasm washes over you, making your body shudder and arch off the couch, walls convulsing around your fingers as you come down from your high.

You didn’t realize you shut your eyes but when you open them again, you see Hinata staring at you with a happy but dazed expression. You slowly pull your fingers from yourself and wipe them on your pajama shirt. You’re going to shower after this anyway, now that sweat clings to your forehead and lower back. 

“Thank you,” is the first thing Hinata says when he speaks again, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Did you just thank me? Really?”

“It was so hot. You’re so hot.” His gushes make your cheeks flush with heat again. “Did, um, that help you make a decision?”

For some reason, the ridiculousness of the situation hits you at that exact moment. Hinata, with his cum still on his stomach and chest, lips twisted in worry. You, with a hand still hovering over your bare pussy, the other still slightly wet with your slick. The both of you, speaking rationally about an unexpected request that flipped your friendship on its head.

“Yeah it did,” you admit with a light smile. Now that you’ve seen him naked on screen and heard all the delicious sounds he makes, there’s no way you’re passing up an opportunity to see it in person too. “You can come over when you get back.”

“Wow, really!” He exclaims with a smile that makes your heart flip. “Don’t forget!”

“I won’t. Oh, and bring your credit card. We’ll be shopping together for a toy so I can fuck that sexy body of yours.”

You swear Hinata’s whole body flushes red. “You don’t have to say it like that!!”

*

You had expected that things would be awkward after your encounter, but Hinata is determined not to make it so. He texts you here and there on the bus ride back to Osaka, apologizes for being too tired to meet up his first day, apologizes  _ again  _ for having another practice that runs late so he can’t come to the bar. You don’t mind—it gives you time to run through your thoughts and search for a few strap-ons that might work for the both of you. 

It’s Friday morning when you wake up to picture text from Hinata that makes your heart flutter. He lies in bed, staring at the camera with sleepy eyes, a smile on his face like he just woke up. It looks like he could be lying right next to you with the angle, and you ignore the flipping in your stomach as you send a selfie back, only showing half your face, your nose and mouth buried in your arm as you lounge in bed.

_ You  _ (08:21): Too early （=´∇｀=）

_ Hinata  _ (08:22): You’re so pretty!!

_ Hinata  _ (08:22): Did I wake you up?

_ Hinata  _ (08:22): Do you work tonight?

_ You  _ (08:23): No

_ You  _ (08:23): Yes

_ Hinata  _ (08:24): Wait, I’m confused

_ You  _ (08:25): I work tonight but you didn’t wake me up. I need coffee

There’s a wait between your last message and his next message, long enough that you’re able to wash your face and shuffle to the kitchen in hopes of that fabled coffee.

_ Hinata  _ (08:31): Can I bring you some coffee? (⁎˃ᆺ˂)

Good thing you haven’t turned on the machine yet. 

_ You  _ (08:32): You want to come over now?

_ Hinata  _ (08:33): Yes!

_ Hinata  _ (08:33): If that’s okay. We can meet another time. I don’t have practice today so I thought it would be nice to see you

_ Hinata  _ (08:34): If that’s okay

_ You  _ (08:34): You said ‘if that’s okay’ twice lol

_ Hinata  _ (08:34): Oh, I did 〈(゜。゜)

_ You  _ (08:35): Here’s my address. I like americano with two sugars 

Hinata sends an enthusiastic reply back but you don’t see it. You’re immediately zooming around your apartment, trying to get ready for him. Good thing you had taken a shower last night at least, so that you can skip that and focus on your hair and outfit. You know he isn’t coming over just for a chat over coffee. Your arrangement had been clear. It gives you nervous energy to clean up and make sure your bedroom is organized and neat. The last thing you want is to be embarrassed when you (assuredly) stumble in there later. 

He arrives nearly 30 minutes later with a coffee and a smile for you. You let him in with a smile of your own, watching as he checks out your apartment with wide eyes. 

“It’s as cute as you!” he grins as he sets your coffee on your little coffee table in front of the TV.

“Do you always give compliments so freely?” you joke as you grab it and take a sip. Ah, sweet caffeine. 

“Only to people I like, like you and Bokuto-san. Definitely not Kageyama.”

It makes you laugh. You’ve never met the Adlers player in person but you know plenty about it from Hinata’s high school stories. 

Hinata sits around from you on the couch and you talk for a few hours, about his trip, your work, about your pasts, about manga you like. You notice as you both get more comfortable that his hand lands on your knee a few times before he blushes and takes it back. Then, just before lunch, when there’s a lull in conversation, Hinata finally asks.

“Can we buy it now?”

You don’t have to ask him what he means. Your laptop is already on the table waiting to be used, after all.

“Sure,” you shrug and grab your computer, opening your bookmarks after logging in. “I found a few that I thought we both might like.”

You expect Hinata to blush or stutter an answer but he doesn’t. His eyes sparkle as he stares at you with his bright smile. You click through a couple of places that don’t catch his eye before you open the last site and show him. The one you picked is average length, the color of onyx, and the metal clasps are gold.

“I thought of your team,” you offer even though he hasn’t asked a question. “It’s the color of MSBY, right?”

He nods and clicks his fingers. “That’s the one!” But before you can purchase it, he turns to you with a sly smile, one you definitely haven’t seen before. “Were you thinking of me?”

The question catches you off-guard. “Of course I was.”

“What part?”

“Hinata—”

He moves fast enough that you can’t stop him. He pushes you back against the couch and leans over you, fingers tracing over your cheek and chin. “Aren’t you going to call me Shouyou? You did before.” 

You can’t find words. He’s looming over you with too angelic of a smile on his face for what he is saying. Who is he and what has he done with the Shouyou Hinata you know?

“Is that what you want to hear?” you whisper back, nipping at the pad of his thumb when he brushes it over your bottom lip.

“I want to hear you say my name again,” he admits, running the same thumb down the column of your neck. You stare up at him, sure he can feel your thick swallow beneath his fingers. 

“Shouyou.” You oblige, but that’s all you can say, because he covers your mouth with his, smashing your lips together in a heated kiss.

It’s an awkward angle but you don’t care at all, not with the way Hinata kisses you like he’s trying to steal your breath. One of his hands holds onto your hip, holding you close to his sturdy body, while the other threads through your hair and tugs hard enough to make you groan. 

He tries to adjust you into a better position by jerking your hip to the side, but all he does is make himself fall to the ground, taking you with him. You squeal as you land on top of his chest, an elbow next to his head to catch yourself. 

His cheeks are red as he stares up at you, his grin nearly making his eyes disappear. “I like this view. It’s nice.”

You can’t help but laugh at the whiplash. “Shouyou, are you going to lead or should I?”

“I’m not very good at it,” he admits with a ruffle of his hair. He hasn’t let go of your hip, even falling off the couch. 

“Okay, then pretend we’re playing volleyball.”

“But we aren’t.”

“But if we _were_ ,” you emphasize. “You’d do anything to win, wouldn’t you?” Your finger runs over his exposed collarbone, making him shiver beneath you. “Do anything to dominate the game?”

Your words seem to light a fire in him. His eyes take on that same gleam from a few days ago, and you have to cling to his arms as he pushes you onto your back and flips positions so he’s on top of you again. It nearly takes your breath away, and he steals the rest of it with a bruising kiss. His fingers tug at the end of your shirt as his tongue snakes into your mouth, his warm calloused hand on your stomach making you shiver. There’s no hesitation in his movements now, and he grabs your right breast, kneading it until you’re groaning in his mouth.

When he pulls back, he’s flushed red and gasping for breath, but he ghosts his lips down your neck until he reaches the crook of your neck. His teeth dig into your flesh and make you whine.

“You can go harder,” you whisper to him.

He looks up at you with a strange twinkle in his eyes. “I can?”

He barely sees you nod with how quickly he returns to your neck and bites down again, this time much harder. His tongue soothes the bite before he is sucking on the sensitive skin. Your fingers thread in his hair as you hold him close, rocking your hips against his, making you both moan at the feeling. His hand under your shirt moves the cup of your bra out of the way and he pinches your nipple and rolls it between his fingers.

“Shirt off please,” you beg him and tug at his shoulders. He complies, letting go of your neck to throw his shirt over his head before he helps you out of yours. Hinata stares at your nearly nude chest before his gaze moves down to the cotton shorts covering your pussy.

“Can I take these off too?”

“You don’t have to ask, Shou,” you tell him gently, moving your fingers to the drawstring that holds up his sweatpants. You help each other out of your pants with a few fumbled tugs and pulls, and your bra goes last, leaving you both naked in front of each other for the first time.

The way he stares at you is weirdly intimate, his wide eyes drinking in your form. But he’s not touching you, his hands clasped at his sides as his chest heaves for breath.

“What’s the matter?”

“I like you,” he blurts out, tearing his eyes away from your body to look you straight in the eye. “I… really like you.”

His confession is so sudden that it makes you blink in surprise. “I like you too, Shouyou.”

“No, I mean—” He’s more flustered than he was a few nights ago on the phone. “I mean that I  _ like  _ you. It’s why… it’s why Bokuto-san told me to talk to you, because he  _ knows  _ and was trying to help, and—”

“Shouyou,” you interrupt him sternly, sitting up so that you both can be eye-to-eye. “I know what you meant. Did you not hear my answer?”

“Huh?”

“I like you too,” you repeat, running a hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t agree to buy a strapon for just anybody.”

Your answer makes him squeak and scramble for an answer but you don’t let him vocalize it. You tug him closer so your lips meet his again and there’s a different sense of urgency this time when he kisses you back. His body falls over yours, pushing you back down to the ground again, his hands running over every inch of your body that he can touch. His lips return to your neck but he moves down to your chest this time, taking a nipple into his mouth and rolling it with his tongue.

You push up into him with a low moan, parting your legs for his wandering hands. His light touches to the inside of your thighs make you sigh and squirm closer to him. One of his fingers runs up your wet slit from bottom to top then back again, drawing a soft whine out of you. He switches nipples as he slowly pushes a finger inside your wet pussy, pumping a few times until his digit is deep within you. 

“Feels good,” you whisper, and he looks up at you as he sucks on your nipple, a happy grin on his lips. “Faster please.”

His answer is muffled into your skin as he kisses down your stomach, his finger pumping in and out of you way too slowly for your liking. Your hips move to meet his as he pushes a second finger inside, finally listening to you and speeding up. Something swipes over your clit and makes you gasp, and it takes a moment for you to realize it’s his tongue, not his thumb. He stares up at you tentatively, tongue darting out one more time to flick over your sensitive nub.

“Don’t tease me,” you gasp, fingers digging into the rug beneath you. 

“Beg me.” 

He says it so quietly you almost don’t hear him. Your eyes snap open and stare down at him. Hinata’s cheeks are flushed red (though you’re not sure if it’s embarrassment from his request or the pleasure), but his eyes are sharp and confident, his dark gaze on you making your heart beat faster.

“Lick my pussy, Shou,” you breathily answer him. “Make me cum baby, I want you to make me feel good.”

“Oh wow,” he groans like he didn’t expect that answer. Then he dives down into your pussy to give you what you asked for. His tongue circles around your clit before he sucks once, making you whine and grab onto his shoulders. He matches his tongue with his fingers as they fuck you, a quick, messy rhythm that makes heat spread deep within your stomach. Your toes curl into the rug as your walls clench around his fingers, and when he curls them just right, you see stars. 

It doesn’t take long for you to come undone beneath him, not with the way he moans into your dripping pussy as he assaults your clit, his fingers hitting you just right. You yell his name as you orgasm, body shaking with the intensity until you’re a sweaty, shivering mess beneath him. 

When you open your eyes again, Hinata is staring at you with a large smile.

“What?” you giggle in embarrassment. 

“Nothing, you just sound really good saying my name like that.” His grin only grows as he pulls his fingers from you, cleaning them off with his tongue. The action reignites the fire in your veins and you paw at him, wanting him closer to you again. 

Your shared kiss is less needy but still just as intense. Hinata’s hands come to rest on your sides and he lifts your hips, running his thumbs along your hip bones. He runs his dick along your wet folds and lets out the quietest moan once he pushes the head of his length into you. Your legs cling to his sides, hips bucking to meet his as he slides in the rest of the way. He fills you up perfectly, your walls clinging to him and making him gasp. His eyes squeeze shut as he hovers over you, sweats trickling down his temple.

“Been a while— Need a minute—”

You give him all the time he needs, fingers running through his hair as you whisper encouragement to him.  _ You feel so good inside me, you’re so fucking sexy, you’re gonna fuck me so good, aren’t you?  _ You swear you can feel his dick twitch inside of you every time you say something. Then with a deep breath, Hinata pulls out of you and slams back in with a stuttered cry. 

The pace he sets is clumsy at the beginning but he finds a rhythm as soon as he swings one of your legs over his shoulder. He hits so deep, slamming that spot where pleasure explodes all over your body. You throw your head back with a whine, fingers clawing at his toned stomach. He presses closer to you, nearly bending your body in half, gaze stuck on the way his cock pounds into you with each snap of his hips.

“You’re so  _ tight _ , oh my god,” he moans, fingers digging into the flesh of your thigh as his thrusts become sporadic. With the way his body begins to shake and eyes begin to flutter shut, you know he’s on the brink of his own orgasm.

“Come on Shouyou, cum for me,” you plead with him, legs pulling him closer. “Want to feel your cum in me, fill me up baby,  _ please _ .”

Hinata lets out a quiet and breathy “ _ fuck _ ” before his body convulses and you feel his warm cum shoot into you. His hips snap a few times but he pulls out a bit too early, some of it landing on your stomach and your swollen pussy. 

He tries to catch his breath and after a few gulps of air, squeaks out, “I’m so sorry!”

“What, why?”

“I finished too early… and on your stomach, too...”

“I’m on birth control, it’s alright,” you assuage his fears. “But you should probably ask that  _ before  _ you sleep with someone.”

“Oh crap.” His eyes are as wide as the plates in your cupboard. “I-I forgot to ask! Next time I’ll bring condoms!” 

You can’t help but burst out laughing, covering your mouth with your hand to keep your giggles contained.

“What?” Hinata blinks in confusion. “What did I say?”

“You just fucked me and you’re already talking about next time,” you grin. Then you lean up to give him a quick kiss on the lips. “ _ Next time _ it is, Shou.”

*

The next time is only two days later, when Hinata comes back over to actually buy the toy since you both forgot last time. Then a second time before he goes away for another game the next day. He comes back to see you as soon as he returns a few days later. You’ve never seen a smile as bright as the one he gives you when you open the door for him. 

You don’t know exactly where your relationship stands. You both admitted your feelings but there hasn’t been a clear cut answer to if you’re dating or not. The only thing you do know is that your heart flutters and your stomach flips as soon as he wraps his arms around you and draws you into a large hug.

“Hi, I missed you,” he smiles. It makes you smile in return.

“You were gone for three days and texted me every day.”

“In person is better,” he explains, then steals your next retort with a kiss. “Did, um. Did you happen to get a package while I was gone…?”

In fact, you did. It sits in your bedroom, opened but still in the box, waiting for use. You nod and Hinata suddenly finds the window very interesting. The poor thing. 

“Aren’t you tired from traveling? We don’t have to today.”

“No, I want to! If you’re okay, I mean. You might be tired too.”

“I have the night off. I’m okay.”

Even with your comforting words, Hinata doesn’t move. You both stare at each other, waiting for the other to make the first gesture toward the bedroom. In the end, you’re the one who reaches out a hand toward the spiker.

“Why don’t we go to the bedroom?”

He grabs your hand and squeezes tightly, lacing your fingers together with a sharp nod. “Okay. Follow my lead!”

All hesitancy is gone the minute he pulls you into your hallway and then your bedroom. He only lets go of your hand to peek in the box, pulling out the strapon with wide eyes.

“Wow, this is amazing! It’s sturdier than I thought! It’ll fit you perfectly too!” 

The way he studies it makes you snort. “Shouyou, it’s a toy, not an art piece.”

“It  _ could  _ be. Have you seen the old statues at the art museum? They have their junk on display.”

You burst into giggles, gesturing for Hinata to join you on the bed. He saunters over and sets the strapon next to your thigh, then leans in to kiss you. His lips are warm, his whole body hot as he leans over you and presses closer. You willingly part your lips for him, cupping his cheeks as your tongues dance together for the first time in days. You graze your teeth over his bottom lip and when he gasps, you grab his shoulders and flip him over. He stares up at you with wide eyes as you climb over his body with a wicked grin.

“Let me take care of you tonight, Shou,” you say, like you’re not the one usually calling the shots anyway, not that you mind. 

Hinata gulps and nods a few times quickly, his cheeks already glowing with excitement. You tug on his shirt and he lifts enough that you can pull it over his head, throwing it to the floor. You kiss him again, fingers tracing down his bare chest until you reach his nipples. You tweak them, rolling and pulling until they’re hard, and Hinata lets out the quietest mewl into your mouth. 

You take your time kissing him until you’re both breathless and he’s grinding his half-hard cock between your thighs for some friction. Then you move down to his neck and graze your teeth over his neck, nipping your way down to his collarbone.

“You were a bad boy, Shouyou,” you say as you drag your tongue along the skin above his collarbone. 

“What do— _ ah _ ,” he gasps when you bite down a bit harder than you mean to, shivering beneath you. You run your tongue over the mark, sucking until there’s a dark red patch on his skin.

“The customers saw the hickey you gave me a week ago,” you grin up at him as you move down to his chest, replacing the fingers on his nipple with your mouth. He moans and pushes closer to you, fingers bunching in your comforter. “Were you trying to mark me? Show everyone that I’m yours?”

He doesn’t answer so you bite down on his nipple and make him squeak. “Tell me, Shouyou. Do you want others to know I’m yours?”

“Yes,” he huffs with reddened cheeks. “ _ Yes _ .”

You smile at the admission, switching nipples to nibble at the other one. His fingers run up and down your covered arms, tugging at the fabric. You pull it over your head and unclasp your bra, throwing them both on the floor next to his shirt. 

“Can we…?” he asks, looking down at the bulge in his jeans. 

“So impatient today,” you tease but oblige. His pants and boxers join the pile of clothes next, leaving him completely naked beneath you. You’ve seen it a handful of times already but his naked body never fails to take your breath away. He’s tone in all the right places, sharp angles and tight muscle in the other. His cock sits against his stomach, hard, red, and waiting for you. Maybe it’s time you admit to yourself that you’re taken with him, just as much as he is with you.

You stand, tugging off the rest of your garments and going back over to the box. You grab the bottle of lube and open the lid, pouring some of it on your pointer and middle finger. You walk back over to him with a reassuring smile, settling between his legs.

Your finger runs over his hole a few times, making sure he’s nice and lubed up before you look up at him. “Raise your legs for me, baby.”

He complies and you slowly push your finger into him, stopping to let him adjust to the feeling. He squirms against you, groaning in slight pain, and you whisper  _ breathe for me, it’s okay _ into his inner thigh until he’s ready. He murmurs that he can take more and you push the rest of your finger in, letting him get used to that until your other finger can join. Soon you have two fingers deep within him, pumping slowly to stretch out his tight hole. 

“You’re being so good for me,” you groan as you sit up, leaning over him as your fingers speed up. “Does it feel good?”

“Yes,” he groans. “Feels so—fuck,  _ fuck _ .”

You giggle as you lick the head of his cock before taking his length into your mouth. You hollow your cheeks as you bob up and down, running your tongue along the underside of his dick. Your fingers spread him slightly, curling and trying to hit his prostate as you suck him. He’s a sweaty, blubbering mess beneath you, small sighs and groans of your name as he bucks into your mouth.

You release him with a pop, slowly pulling both of your fingers out of his ass.

“I think you’re ready,” you whisper but look to him for a verbal answer. “Do you still want it?”

“Yes, please.  _ Please _ .”

He doesn’t have to ask twice. You slip the strapon on, making sure to lube it generously, before you line the tip of the dildo up with his hole. You go slowly for him, making sure he’s comfortable and feeling okay, giving him all the time he needs to adjust to the toy before you push the entire thing inside. When it’s completely in, you lean over him, pressing soft kisses all over his face as he pants for breath.

“You took all of me, Shou. You’re doing so well, you know that? So tight around me.”

“ _ Ugh— _ ” He moans right into your ear, making you shudder. “You can— _ ah _ , you can move.”

You do so slowly at first but after he mewls for more, you give him what he wants. Your dingers dig into his sides as you fuck him hard. He looks so hot beneath you, eyes squeezed shut with pleasure, one hand on his nipple, one wrapping around his cock to tug. It sends a jolt straight to your already drenched pussy.

You lift his hips slightly and he nearly screams out your name as you hit his prostate at that angle. His hand on his nipple goes to your arm and he digs his fingers into your flesh, eyes opening to watch you pound into him.

“Are you close, Shou?” you ask between gasps for breath. One of your hands runs up and down his stomach, eyes glued to his.

“I—fuck,  _ yes _ ,” he hisses. His hand moves faster, grips a bit together. With a shout of your name, he spills cum all over his stomach and chest, body shaking long after he stops cumming.

You stop your thrusts, slowly rubbing circles into his sweaty hips, until he’s calmed down enough to open his eyes again and look at you. There’s a blissful smile on his face and his eyes shine with unshed tears.

“Are you okay?” You ask with a furrowed brow.

“It was  _ amazing _ . Felt so good.”

“I’m glad,” you squeeze his hips and slowly pull out of him. “Let me clean you up.” You slip out of the strapon and grab tissues from your nightstand, wiping up his cum carefully until he’s clean. “I’ll go run a bath.” 

“Come here first.”

He grabs your arm and tugs you closer. You expect him to hold you close or cuddle next to you for a bit, but he grabs at your hips until you’re sitting right over his face.

“Shou—”

“I want to make you feel good too,” he says before he dives into your pussy.

He eats you out like a man starved. Your fingers wrap in his hair and tug him closer while he assaults your clit with his tongue. You’re wet enough that he can push two fingers inside, and he pumps them in and out of you like he’s trying to rip your orgasm from you. He wants you to cum, and he wants you to cum now, judging by how fast his fingers fuck you and how hard he sucks at your clit.

It doesn’t take long for you to cum, your body shaking violently as it hits like a tidal wave. His name spills from your lips like a prayer, your fingers harshly tugging at his hair as he groans into you. Even when you gasp for breath, he doesn’t stop his fingers. He only pulls away when you whine, “Too sensitive, Shou.”

“Ah, sorry!” He grins up at you, mouth and chin wet with your release. You don’t know which is sexier, your cum on his face or his own cum on his stomach.

You flop next to him, body sore and tired from the night. Hinata wipes his face with the back of his hand and tugs you closer. You snuggle into the warmth of his sturdy chest, setting your head against his shoulder as he holds you.

“Thank you,” he whispers into the crown of your head. “You’re the best girlfriend ever.”

_ Girlfriend _ . That settles your question from earlier. You relax in his arms, glad he can’t see the blush on your cheeks.

“You’re welcome, Shouyou.”

“I have to tell Atsumu-san and Bokuto-san about this!”

“Don’t you even  _ dare _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is meian (yessirrr), then sakusa, bokuto, and maybe atsumu and yamaguchi.   
> after that, i'm all out of ideas though, so if you have any requests, go ahead and ask!


	5. A Chance Encounter (Shuugo Meian/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you happen to meet shuugo meian while wearing his jersey, then he fucks you in it   
> that’s it, that’s the story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know literally zero things about this man except that he is very attractive but here’s smut with him anyway lmao  
> fem!reader, 5k words

When you had agreed to help out Jii-chan in place of your best friend Minato, you certainly hadn’t expected to meet your idol _ Shuugo Meian _ of all people. 

Your friendship with Minato had started in grade school, so her grandfather had become like family to you as well. His little izakaya in Osaka was the old man’s pride and joy since you were a high school student, and once you became of age, Minato and you both helped out as much as he needed it.

Tonight is supposed to be different. It’s your day off from work and duties at the izakaya. MSBY Black Jackals have a game that you tried so hard to get tickets for, only to end up watching from your small apartment, nursing a cold beer. What a bummer, since this game had won them a spot in the playoffs, a hard fought win that you wished you could have seen in person.

You’d loved volleyball since middle school, played on the neighborhood team through high school and college, so it’s no surprise you root for the hometown favorites. But your absolute favorite player is easily the captain, Shuugo Meian. And that’s whose jersey you sit in, watching the Black Jackals win another match from the comfort of your home.

Shortly after the game ends, your phone buzzes with a call from Minato’s grandfather.

“Jii-chan!” You greet as soon as you answer. “Is everything alright?”

“Is Miichan with you? She’s supposed to help out tonight and I got a request for a special booking, but she isn’t here and isn’t answering her phone.”

Of course Minato would forget. The girl is scatterbrained at best, and tonight she’s out with her boyfriend, no doubt spending it at a love motel. 

“Ah, no, she’s not. But don’t worry, I can come help!”

“Aren’t you at the Black Jackals game?”

“I couldn’t get tickets,” you lament. You’re already up and switching your comfortable shorts into jeans. 

You’re about to change your shirt into something nicer for this “special” booking when Minato’s grandfather says, “Oh good. Wear your jersey. The group are big volleyball fans.”

“Um, sure,” you agree.

You shouldn’t have listened.

*

Jii-chan is already working on setting up a table for the group when you arrive a bit later. Apparently the group had booked the entire izakaya so they’ll be the only customers you have to serve that night. As you meander about the kitchen preparing ingredients, you idly wonder if this group are Black Jackals fans as well, since Jii-chan asked you to keep your jersey on. 

Minato’s grandfather had taught you how to make everything, and if you are honest, you’re pretty damn good at cooking. At least better than Minato, who manages to burn herself at least once a night. 

About 45 minutes after you arrive, you hear the front door bell ring and Jii-chan’s excited voice call out, “Welcome!” By the sounds of it, it’s a large group, their lively voices reaching you even in the kitchen. There’s a light scratching of chairs, excited greetings, then grandfather calls for you to come greet the guests. 

You wipe your hands on the apron around your waist then push the short black curtain aside, stepping into the room to greet them. As soon as you enter, eight pairs of eyes are on you, and you freeze like a deer in the headlights. 

They aren’t just volleyball fans, but volleyball  _ players _ . Eight of the MSBY Black Jackals squad sit at the table and every single one of them lifts a hand in greeting. You bow your head hoping to hide your red cheeks. 

_ Please don’t notice my shirt, please don’t notice my shirt.  _

“Hey hey, nice shirt!” Koutarou Bokuto yells out. You curse the stupid spiker in your head. 

“Jii-chan didn’t tell me exactly who was coming,” you recover, sending a sharp glance to the old man. “But welcome anyway and congratulations. I’m happy to serve you tonight.”

“I won’t say no to a pretty girl serving us,” Atsumu Miya comments, and you basically want to die. 

You awkwardly thank him for the compliment and hightail it out of there, going back to your kitchen safe space. You can’t believe this is really happening. Of all people, of all places, your favorite player has to see you wearing his jersey. You never want to leave this room again. 

Of course that can’t happen. The volleyball players turn out to be a rowdy bunch, though you can’t blame them. Spurred from their win, they order tons of drinks and even more food, keeping you and Jii-chan busy. Whenever you bring them refills of drinks or gyoza or karaage, you pretend you aren’t wearing a Black Jackals jersey or serving your favorite captain, whose unreadable eyes keep landing on you. 

You had expected them to be tired from their game but they are anything but, and by the time midnight rolls around, half the team is drunk and Jii-chan is nearly falling asleep at the cash register. 

“Go home,” you tell him with a smile. “I can handle things from here.” 

“I can’t leave you to handle eight men alone,” the old man stubbornly replies even though his eyes are bloodshot and words tired. 

“Technically it’s seven.” Kiyoomi Sakusa had left a few hours ago. At the look he gives you, you pat his arm. “I’ll call them a cab, clean up, and go home. I have the weekend off.”

Jii-chan looks less than convinced. This is, until a deep voice from behind you says, “I’ll help as well.” 

The first thing you notice about Shuugo Meian is that he’s  _ tall _ . Of course he is. You know his stats as a volleyball player—6’5”, hefty due to his muscle—but seeing him in person is completely different. He’s much more handsome in person, his black hair gelled up and white t-shirt tight under a dark blue blazer. He isn’t leering or domineering at all but you still feel small next to him. 

You manage to recover enough to shoot the old man a smile. “See? He can probably handle them better than anyone.” 

As if to prove you wrong, Oliver Barnes drunkenly yells in English, “Captain, let me talk to her too!” 

“What do you mean,  _ let _ you?” You demand jokingly and earn laughs from the other guys. 

“What did you say!”

“She sounds mad!” 

Bokuto and Hinata don’t let Barnes answer before he is forced to take another drink. The lively scene makes Jii-chan hesitate again, but with another reassurance from the captain, you’re left alone to deal with a bunch of drunk volleyball players. 

At least they’re entertaining and  _ welcoming  _ drunk volleyball players. They invite you into the conversation when you’re not bringing them rolled eggs or fried food, even long after Meian cuts their beer off, reminding them of practice in two days. 

Eventually they begin to trickle out one by one until only Meian remains, after sending Atsumu off in a taxi. You expect him to grab a taxi next, seeing as it’s now nearly three in the morning, but he doesn’t. He walks back into the izakaya and takes his blazer off, slinging it over the back of a chair. 

“Um, what are you doing…?” You ask. You hadn’t expected him to come back inside. 

“I told your grandfather I’d help out,” he reminds you with a cocked grin. You don’t correct him about Jii-chan. 

“Oh no, I couldn’t let you.”

“What do you mean,  _ let _ me?” He jokes, just like with you did with Barnes earlier. It makes your cheeks hot. 

What a strange situation you find yourself in, cleaning the izakaya with the guy whose shirt you’re wearing. He’s surprisingly easy to talk to, especially once you tell him about your time playing volleyball. He’s very interested to hear about your exploits as setter for the local electronics team, even though you’re not very good. 

When all that’s left is the dishes, you turn to him and thank him for all the help. 

He looks genuinely confused as he answers, “But we aren’t done.”

“I can do the dishes by myself, it’s okay. I’m sure you’re tired after your long day.”

“I don’t like to leave things unfinished.”

“How responsible of you,” you laugh. 

There’s a flash on his face, like he’s calculating how he wants to answer, before he settles on, “You wash, I dry?” 

“Only if we switch halfway through,” you flash your hands at him to show off your manicure. “I just got these done a few days ago.” 

“And they’re very pretty,” he politely responds. Then he waits a beat before he adds: “It matches the rest of you.” 

You pause. Is Shuugo Meian flirting with you? Is this real life? You chance a flirty response. 

“Well thank you, handsome. But don’t think this gets you out of washing duty.” 

He holds his hands up and gives a guilty smile before following you to the kitchen. 

Dishes are quiet compared to the earlier cleaning. He keeps his word and switches with you halfway, and you take a seat on the counter as you do the drying.

“This is highly domestic,” you muse as you swing your legs. 

“I’m sure your boyfriend will be mad if he knows.” 

It’s a leading statement. You know it. He knows it. But you pretend you don’t anyway. 

“Probably as mad as your girlfriend if she knows you spent a  _ very _ exciting night with another girl.”

He passes you a wet plate but he doesn’t let go when you grab it. 

“If I had one, maybe.” 

“Oh good,” you respond nonchalantly, though you aren’t sure how, because your heart is going absolutely crazy in your chest. “I wouldn’t want to be flirting with a taken man.”

He snorts at that but doesn’t respond. 

When everything is  _ finally _ done, you wipe your hands on a nearby towel and hop off the counter before stretching your tired limbs out. The clock on the wall reads 3:42. 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize it was so late.” You apologize with a slight bow of your head. 

“It’s fine,” he waves you off. How is it that he still looks as alert as when he came in earlier? You’re about ready to sink into your couch just to get off your feet. “Do you live close?” 

“Yeah, I can walk back.” 

Meian looks at you like you’ve grown two heads. “It’s almost 4am.”

“It’s only ten minutes. I’m sure you live further,” you argue. You don’t want to inconvenience him more than you already have.

“Then I’ll walk you back and catch a taxi from your house.”

“What?” For some reason, the thought of Shuugo Meian knowing where you live makes you panic. “No, no, it’s really okay—”

“I won’t be taking no for an answer. Captain’s honor and all that.” 

His demand makes it final. You grumble about stubborn captains as you hurry to lock up, and pretend you don’t hear him chuckling behind you as you scurry out of the bar.

The walk back home is a bit chilly, and with your nerves and the cold weather, you make it back to your apartment in seven minutes. You both hadn’t said a word the entire time, instead enjoying a comfortable (but quick) silence, but now that you’re in front of your building, awkwardness hits like a freight train. 

“I suppose this is where we part,” you offer with a lift of your hand.

You expect him to offer something like,  _ get inside safely _ , or  _ it was nice to meet you _ , or if you allow yourself to live your wildest dreams,  _ can I have your number? _

You certainly don’t expect what he says instead.

“Before I go, I can sign your shirt for you.”

It’s a lead-in. Just like the leading question earlier about your non-existent boyfriend. Only this time, he’s giving you a choice. You can invite him upstairs to find a “pen”, or let him and his flirtatious interest walk away. You know what you want your answer to be but still, you hesitate. Does he think you want him just because he’s your favorite player? You’d had good conversation the entire night. He was kind, funny, easy to talk to,  _ very  _ nice to look at. And obviously, there’s something about  _ you  _ that has him asking to come upstairs at 4am. He’s definitely not here to sign your shirt and leave. 

“Will you sign my poster too?” you grin. “It’s my pride and joy. Had to fight an old lady for it.”

“You did that for us?” Meian quips, gesturing to your building. 

_ Holy shit, this is actually happening,  _ is all you can think as you ascend the stairs to your second floor apartment. Your mind races to think of anything embarrassing that you might have left out, but other than your old beer cans, there’s nothing that sticks out. 

Hell, if he’s already coming up to your apartment, no need to pretend you aren’t his fan after all. “I’m wearing your jersey, after all. Big fan, obviously.”

You unlock the door for him and gesture inside, and he bows his head in thanks as he steps in. He takes a moment to inspect your small studio apartment with a nod before he lands on the poster on the wall. 

“That’s an awful picture of me,” Meian laughs. It’s an action shot with all the players, and Meian is mid-spike with an admittedly funny look on his face.

“Still pretty handsome,” you smile at him. “Though the real thing is better.” Then to save yourself the embarrassment of your awkward flirting, you change the subject. “You can take a seat on my bed if you want.”

“Aren’t you joining?” His blunt question makes you pause. His eyes are dark as he stares down at you. “To get your shirt signed. Of course.”

“Of course,” you repeat with a tilt of your lips. As you grab a permanent marker from your desk, you idly wonder when this charade is going to end. You have your answer as soon as you turn back toward your bed. Meian has shrugged off his blazer again, lounging back on his hands in just his tight t-shirt. With the way he’s sitting, there’s barely a spot for you. “And where am I supposed to sit, huh?”

Meian’s eyes hold a sort of challenge to them. He tilts his head wordlessly and pats his knee.  _ Oh fuck _ . You thought you were ready downstairs but now that he’s offering his  _ lap  _ to you like it’s nothing big, you hesitate. Your body feels like it’s on fire, your cheeks going pink, but you try to play it off with a confident smile. You walk over and drop yourself right into his lap, moving your hair out of the way to show your back to him. 

He doesn’t say anything as he takes the marker from you. Then you feel his fingers graze over your back as he grabs the bottom of your shirt to tighten it. He signs over his name near your shoulder blades and the pen makes a clanging noise as he throws it back onto your desk. He hasn’t let go of the bottom of your shirt; in fact, his fingers have started moving up your spine slowly, making you shiver under his calloused touch. 

“I won’t do anything you don’t want,” he whispers into the back of your head. His low voice goes straight to your pussy, making you rub your thighs together, squirming slightly on his lap. 

“I invited you inside,” you remind him. You thought that would have been indicator enough but you should have been upfront before coming inside. 

“Need more than that.” Meian responds, and you feel the ghost of his lips over the back of your exposed neck.  _ Fuck _ , you can’t think if he does that. 

“If you don’t kiss me right this second, I’ll turn around and do it myself,” you tell him. He snorts behind you. “Is that enough consent for you?”

He doesn’t answer with words; he tugs the back of your jersey so you fall flush against his sturdy chest, and his right hand tilts your chin so he can mash your lips together. It’s an awkward angle but as soon as his tongue swipes at your bottom lip, you find you don’t care. You open your mouth to him and nearly groan as he pushes his tongue into your mouth. Like his volleyball play, he’s dominant, confidant. His hands are already under your shirt, grabbing at your covered breasts and making you moan.

He pulls back to catch his breath before he dives in again. The kiss is passionate enough to make you lean back your head against his shoulder, fingers clinging to his pants. He bites on your lower lip and tugs hard enough to make you whine, then he soothes it over with his tongue. 

Meian grabs hold of your hips and suddenly flips you over, so you’re on your hands and knees on the bed in front of him. He maneuvers you so that you’re standing, bent over at the waist so your arms are still on your bed. You look back at him but you can’t see much, other than his large hands unbuttoning your jeans and dragging your clothes down until you’re naked from the waist down in front of him. 

“Shit, I like this view.” 

His hands on your hips tug you closer to him and you feel his tongue run down your spine, small nips burning your flesh until he reaches the dip where your ass starts. 

“How many service aces did I have today?”

“Huh?” Why is he asking this now?

“If you’re my fan, you should know the answer to this question,” he teases you. He squeezes your ass between his hands, his nips growing lower and lower until he’s close to your throbbing core. You can feel his breath over your wet pussy and squirm to get closer. 

“Four.”

There’s a crack in the air as his palm lands on your right ass cheek. You yelp from the force, pulling away from the sudden pain, but he jerks you back. Then you feel his tongue run over the length of your wet folds, dipping in once before pulling back. There’s a beat when he doesn’t do anything, but then he smacks your left cheek once. It makes your body shiver, heat radiating from your flesh, but it’s forgotten as soon as he spreads your folds and swipes over your clit. He rolls it between his tongue once, then twice, then pulls away. 

“Can you handle two more?” he asks. His voice is laced with his own desire, the depth making your legs shake. 

There are tears in your eyes from the strength in the hits but the pulsing in your needy pussy makes you nod. You want to feel his tongue on you again. “Please.”

He hums and then gives your right cheek another slap, his hands holding up your hips when you start to fall. He keeps them there as he attacks your clit again, three quick flicks to your swollen nub making you groan and push closer to his mouth. 

_ One more _ . He doesn’t speak as he smacks your ass one last time and you cry out when he’s done, the mix of the pleasure and pain making your body tremble. You hear him mutter something that sounds like “ _ good girl _ ” before he dives back into your core, this time not pulling away. 

His tongue dives deep while his fingers rub circles over your clit. The pleasure is nearly overwhelming and you bury your head into your arms, your loud moans muffled into your bedsheets. You whimper when he pulls his hand away, but two fingers join his tongue almost immediately. 

“God, you’re soaked.” He groans against you before he dives in again, lips covering your clit and giving it a harsh suck.

You want to give him a clever response. Something like,  _ Yeah I wonder why _ , or  _ All for you, baby _ . But all you can do is beg him to go faster, to make you feel good, the warmth in your stomach spreading all the way to your toes. When he flattens his tongue against your clit and his fingers curl deep within you, you snap. Your body is a shivering mess as you cum hard, repeated whimpers of his name leaving your mouth as you ride out your orgasm. 

When his arm pulls away from your hip, you collapse on the bed, panting to catch your breath. You shift enough so that your bleary eyes can watch him pull off his shirt and tug down his jeans. Good  _ God  _ is he muscular, with thick thighs that make you want to ride them until you’re shuddering from another orgasm. 

“Are you too tired?” He questions, tilting his head. Considerate, even after he’s smacked your ass red.

“For you? Never.”

He snorts and in one swift motion, drags down his boxers. 

Shuugo Meian is a big guy and his dick is no exception. It’s long and girthy, and your pussy throbs at even the thought of it being inside you. You turn to your back so you can see him better, sitting up on your elbows and opening your legs as an invitation for him to slide inside.

“As much as I want to be in that pussy right now, we need a condom first.”

_ Right _ . “Top drawer of my desk, in the pencil case.”

He rummages around your desk until he finds what he’s looking for, and when he turns back to you, you’re already halfway through pulling off your shirt.

“No.” The demand is loud enough that it makes you drop the fabric. “Keep it on.”

Keep on his jersey while he’s fucking you in it? 

“A bit narcissistic, no?” You joke with him but comply, putting both of your feet on the edge of your bed so your dripping core is back on display for him. “Is this how you want me?”

Meian lets out a harsh breath from his nose as he rips open the packet, rolling the condom onto his hard length. “Can’t help it if you look really fucking good wearing my number.”

If your cheeks weren’t already red, they would be now. He stalks closer and grabs hold of your hips, dragging your ass to the edge of the bed. You wrap your legs around his waist for leverage, spreading yourself for him so he can enter you more easily. Even still, it’s a burn when he pushes in, his dick stretching you in the most delicious way. 

“Fuck, you’re big,” you groan when he bottoms out, fingers on his arms digging in hard enough to leave bruises on his tan skin. 

He smirks like he  _ knows _ , not that you’re complaining when he pulls out and slams back into you again. There’s no romantic buildup or waiting—he holds your hips up by your ass as he fucks you, fingernails digging into your skin.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans and leans down to capture your lips in a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue. 

From that angle, he hits even deeper, and you can’t keep your loud moans quiet. He fills you up perfectly, hitting that spot within you that makes your legs shake and toes curl. 

“You’re gonna get us in trouble, baby girl,” he jokes, but his pants are just as loud as your sounds. When you tighten around him, he hisses and smacks your ass again, making you mewl.

“Wanna cum again,” you whine, eyes squeezed shut. You don’t care how needy you sound. You want to cum around his cock, milking him for all he’s worth. 

His chuckle in your ear sends a shiver down your spine. He kisses you again just as his thumb begins rubbing quick circles on your clit. You arch off the bed, pushing closer to him, fingers digging into his hair. The pleasure is overwhelming, senses overloaded with everything Meian. 

“Fuck,  _ fuck _ !” You shout when he hits that sweet spot within you. 

Your orgasm comes suddenly, flooding through you and making your vision go white. This one is even more intense than your first, and he fucks you through it, his hips snapping into yours a few more times before he cums with a stuttered groan. It sounds like music to your ears. Even though your eyelids are heavy, you keep your eyes on his face, memorizing what he looks like when he’s deep within you. You want to remember it forever. 

He doesn’t pull out right away. You run your fingers down his back, a gentle gesture compared to how hard he just fucked you. He murmurs a happy thank you, but you barely register it. It’s been a long day and your consciousness is fading fast, the warmth of the man above you and the contentment from a good time making you comfortable. You hear him say something to you, but you can only whimper a response before sleep claims you. 

*

“You  _ fell asleep _ on him?!” 

Minato’s high-pitched screech makes you lean back against your bed, wincing at the volume. 

“Could you stop yelling? I’m barely awake.” 

When you had woken up that morning, you were alone in your apartment, Shuugo Meian nowhere to be found. The floor of your bathroom was wet, so he had obviously taken a shower, and you were back in your shorts, so he must have put them back on for you. 

You hadn’t expected him to stay of course, but something about waking up alone made your stomach drop. You don’t know what else you expected, especially after falling asleep, but no word from the volleyball player made you feel a bit shitty. A quick lay and that’s it—you hadn’t done something like that since your university days years ago. 

“Well,  _ someone _ was out and not answering their phone,” you deadpan at your friend.

She gives you a sheepish smile. “Jin booked a motel. Was I supposed to say no? At least I didn’t fall asleep on him.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave your hand at her, wanting badly to change the subject. Thinking about waking up alone leaves a sour taste in your mouth. 

But Minato won’t drop it. “At least he signed your shirt? Looks like he signed your poster too.”

“Huh?”

You turn to the poster on your wall—the one Meian had commented on the night prior—and see it. His large signature is sprawled out on black over his funny face. But that’s not the only thing there. Wedged between the wall and the poster is a small white piece of paper that wasn’t there before. 

You kneel on your bed to grab it, avoiding Minato’s excited eyes as you scan the paper. 

“It’s… his number.”

“What?!”

Your heart is going insane in your chest, eyes reading the note over and over again.  _ I had a good time last night. I didn’t want to wake you so I hope you find this. I put it somewhere I thought you might look. Feel free to message me whenever you’d like.  _ It’s funny how one minute you were ready to forget all about him, and the next, you’re reaching for your phone. 

“Will I look stupid if I message him already?” You ask your friend, who looks at you like you’re a complete idiot. 

“Either you message him right now, or I’ll do it myself and steal your man.”

“He’s not my man and you have your own man,” you narrow your eyes at her, but she just grins back at you. 

“Not your man  _ yet _ .” 

You throw a pillow off your bed at her as you open a new message on your phone. You stare at the blank message for a few minutes, running through what you want to say. It’s gotta be something cool, sexy, not needy, not too excited, right? You type something, then delete it. Type something, delete it. Why is this so hard? 

“Oh my God, are you going to text him or what?” 

“Shut up, I’m thinking.” 

_ “ _ Well think faster!” 

You try not to second guess yourself as you keep your message short and simple. 

_ You _ (13:46): I found your note :) Good job signing over your face!

I had a good time too. Sorry I didn’t see you off. You must have worn me out more than I realized ;) 

“You’re so lame,” Minato groans as she flips back on your floor. 

“As if you’re any better!” You kick at her with your right foot. “I’ve seen some of the things you say to Jin.”

Whatever Minato is about to say is interrupted by your phone dinging.  _ That was fast _ . Was he waiting for your message? 

_ Shuugo Meian _ (13:48): Anytime you need another good night’s rest, feel free to call me. :)

_ You _ (13:50): What a gentleman. How can I say no to such an offer? 

_ Shuugo Meian _ (13:52): I’m glad. I’d like to see you again. 

The bluntness of his answer makes you grin uncontrollably. 

“This is like a romance movie,” Minato sighs. 

You paw at her again with a whine. “ _ Stop it _ , I’ve been single forever. Let me enjoy this.”

“Oh I’m sure you’re enjoying it.” Her laugh is loud and very annoying.

_ You _ (13:54): I’d like to see you again too. Maybe after you make it to the finals? ^~^

_ Shuugo Meian _ (13:55): How about sooner? I’ve got two tickets to our playoff match if you’d like them.

_ You _ (13:56): Are you serious? 

_ Shuugo Meian _ (13:57): As long as you wear my jersey again. :) 

Your cheeks redden at his quip and you answer with an enthusiastic thank you.  _ He wants to see you again _ . It all feels like a crazy dream. 

Maybe you should thank Minato and Jii-chan. If it weren’t for her skipping her duties and the old man’s insistence on wearing your jersey, this whole crazy situation would never have come to fruition.

Looking at your friend sitting across from you, a knowing smirk on her face as she stares back with a waggle of her eyebrows, you decide against it. 

Whatever happens between you and Shuugo Meian now can be your little secret. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is sakusa (in the same style as the asahi chapter)  
> then either bokuto or kenma!  
> see you next week and happy lunar new year!


	6. Firsts (Kiyoomi Sakusa/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kiyoomi sakusa has never understood love. not until she walked into his life with an ugly yellow vest and a smile that could melt an entire ice castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter explores more of "softkusa" rather than "domkusa"   
> because to me he's more of an awkward blunt and inexperienced guy who just never really cared enough until he found someone he likes   
> so this fic explores his "firsts", hope you enjoy :)  
> fem!reader, written in sakusa's pov so use of "she" instead of "you", 11.6K words (no joke)

Kiyoomi Sakusa meets her on a Friday in July.

He remembers the date clearly because it’s Komori’s birthday and EJP Raijin happened to have a practice game in Kyoto the previous day. So they spend his birthday together at a small izakaya in Osaka, where Komori books a private room so they and Washio don’t have to deal with the crowded main area.

The three of them talk about volleyball, their schedules, their training. Sakusa hasn’t seen Komori in a bit, thanks to their two teams being hours apart, so it’s nice to see him again. But when the two of them verge into other topics, Sakusa goes quiet and nurses his beer, letting the two men talk about fans and girls and all of the  _ screaming  _ at their matches. (He really hates that.)

“Yeah, I got a girl in Tokyo but I don’t know,” Washio shrugs as he stuffs a piece of octopus into his mouth. “She’s a bit needy.”

“Are you sure it’s not that you’re too aloof?” Komori jokes after a swig of his beer. 

“If you don’t like her, break up with her.” Sakusa offers flatly.

“Okay you too-blunt-jerk, it’s not  _ that  _ bad,” Washio grumbles. 

Washio continues to talk about his relationship woes but Sakusa can’t add anything else useful, not that he cares to. He’s had one relationship in his whole life, if he can even call it that. His high school girlfriend lasted exactly two months and they hadn’t even held hands before she called it quits, annoyed at the lack of intimacy. Sakusa really can’t blame her. He’s just not good with people, something he knows quite clearly, so he doesn’t have a need for such matters. 

There’s a slight commotion outside the door, two yelling female voices that catch his attention, then the door to their private room suddenly opens. A black-haired girl with flushed cheeks and a drunken wobble nearly falls over him as she comes into the room. His heart jumps in his chest as he scoots back to get away from the stranger, eyeing her wearily before glancing at his black mask that sits to his right.

“Emi, I told you, this isn’t our room!”

That’s when he sees her for the first time.

Sakusa isn’t one to believe in fate or destiny or the like. He believes that hard work, discipline, and realism to his limits will shape his future. That’s why he finds it strange that there’s no logical explanation for the way his breath catches when he sees her. She’s wearing a cute floral dress that shows off her shoulders, her hair is curled and pulled back to frame her lightly made-up face, and she chews on her bottom lip as she grabs onto her friend’s arm.

“Oh, these boys are cute!” Her friend Emi giggles as she leans over their table. “Don’t you think so too?”

Emi says her name and it’s immediately burned into Sakusa’s brain. He repeats it twice to himself and doesn’t know why.

“Let’s go, you drunken idiot,” she laments as she tugs her friend away from the table. “I’m so,  _ so  _ sorry for her. I hope we haven’t interrupted too much.”

“You have,” Sakusa says. The words tumble from his mouth before he even knows he’s speaking. He sees Komori wince slightly across the table, but he can’t focus on that, not when the girl is looking directly at him with wide, apologetic eyes.

“Then let me buy your next round as an apology.”

“Nah, it’s not that big of a deal,” Washio cuts in before Sakusa can say anything else. (Why does he even want to say anything else?) 

“You’re very kind, thank you,” the girl tightens her grip on her friend, who is nearly asleep on her shoulder now, and gives Sakusa one last lingering look. “I hope you have a good night.”

She disappears out the room as quickly as she came, shutting the door behind her. As soon as the two girls are gone, Komori turns on him with a frown.

“You could have been nicer.”

“What for?”

His cousin shakes his head. “You’re hopeless, Omi.” 

Sakusa grunts his answer. He doesn’t see why he should coddle her, when she was the one to interrupt them in the first place. But then there’s another knock on the door, and the waiter walks in with another round of beer, and he knows she sent the drinks as an apology anyway.

For one of the first times in his life, Kiyoomi Sakusa feels a bit bad for his bluntness.

*  
  


He had forgotten all about the incident at the bar when he meets her for the second time. 

A very warm day—one he has off from training—means a quick walk to the store for groceries. He’s standing at a corner at the back of a large group, waiting on the red light, when he hears her name again.

His eyes immediately shift to his right. A group of preschool-aged children stand waiting for the light too, led by two women in yellow vests. She’s bending down to talk to a little girl with rosy pink cheeks and hair shorter than his.

“Honey, remember what I said? While I’m at work, you have to call me by my last name or teacher, okay?”

The girl chirps her last name obediently and Sakusa writes it to memory. Why? He doesn’t have a clue. But her name is something he won’t forget, like volleyball formations or his mask if he goes out. 

When she stands back up and turns back to the light, she looks right at him. 

She isn’t as made up as she was at the bar, but she’s pretty nonetheless, even in the ugly yellow vest that says the name of her daycare. He knows she recognizes him by the way her eyes widen then settle into understanding. 

“Um, hello,” she greets tentatively. He answers with a stiff nod. “You’re the person from the bar, right?”

“I am.”

“I recognized you from…” She points to the two moles above his eye before she gives an awkward smile. “Did you get the drinks I sent?”

“We did.” 

“Oh, good, I’m glad.”

“You didn’t have to send them. We told you that.”

“I know but I wanted to. You looked pretty upset.”

Did he? Usually people tell him that he’s too stoic and doesn’t show emotion well. That’s a surprise. 

“Oh.”

There’s silence, and then the light changes, and she’s walking away with her little troop of children, saying goodbye with a little wave of her hand. 

When he talks to Komori a few days later on the phone, his cousin goes speechless for a moment.

“And you didn’t get her number or anything?”

“Why would I? I just happened to run into her again and we made small talk.”

“Omi, I swear,” Komori laughs and doesn’t explain why. “If you see her again, you have to get her number.”

“I’m not going to do that.” Sakusa answers firmly. There’s no reason to do so. Just like there was no reason for him to look up the homepage for the daycare she works at (yet he did that anyway.) “I won’t see her again.” 

Funny how the world works. 

*  
  


Sakusa’s route home is always the same. He thrives in routine. When he finishes practice, he makes sure to shower first, far away from everyone else. He dries his curly hair, dons his mask again, and leaves before anyone else. Then he walks home since his apartment is close enough, picked on purpose so he can avoid crowded buses and subways. 

For some reason, he’s extra tired today and his feet feel heavy as he makes the trek home. He hadn’t slept well the night prior and his serves were more than lackluster at practice. He’d drilled them until Meian had forced him to go home, and even then, he hadn’t been satisfied.

_ Fatigue _ . That’s his excuse when he finds himself in front of a yellow building, the same color as her ugly yellow vest, the sign outside indicating that it’s her daycare. The same one he had searched for earlier that week. One light is on inside but all the children seem to be gone, which isn’t surprising given the late hour. 

Why is he even here? It’s not far off course from his regular route, but it’s a change in his routine that he can’t blame anyone but himself for. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it. The light turns off and someone walks out of the building, locking the door behind them. 

Then they turn and Sakusa sees it’s  _ her _ of all people. She’s looking right at him, apprehensive as she walks closer, hands clutching her bag tightly as she approaches. That’s when Sakusa realizes he’s standing at the end of the walkway, clad in his black mask and MSBY black sweats, his black duffel bag thrown over his shoulder, well after dark. She probably thinks he’s a creep. 

“Oh!” She exclaims when she realizes it’s him. (Why hasn’t he walked away?) “What a surprise.”

She can say that again.

He answers with a non-committal nod of his head, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets. 

“Do you live around here?” She ventures awkwardly. She’s still holding onto the strap of her bag. “Or is there a problem...?”

“I live a few blocks from here. This is my way home.” 

“Me too.” Then she points to the right, toward the station. “I’m going this way, so…”

It just so happens that so is he. 

“I’ll walk you.” It comes out more like a demand so he adds: “I’m going that way too.” 

“Oh.” Even in the dark, he can see a twinge of pink on her cheeks.  _ Cute _ , is the first thing he thinks and he quickly forces that down. “If you’re sure.”

“I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.”

“Right.” She nods then begins to walk. 

It’s a quiet walk for a bit, the late summer night making him sweat underneath his jacket, and she notices him fidget with his long sleeves. 

“What sport do you play?”

“Volleyball.” 

“I was close! I guessed basketball.” 

He looks over at her (and down because he’s much taller than her) and raises an eyebrow. “They’re nothing alike.” 

“They both use a ball! And you have to be tall for both.” She taps her chin as she muses. “And they both have teams and rules and—” 

“Okay, I get it.”

She giggles like she told the world’s greatest joke and the word  _ cute _ makes its way to Sakusa’s mind again. He doesn’t suppress it this time. She stops to check his jacket for the name of the team before she tilts her head. 

“MSBY Black Jackals? Are you… good?”

“We haven’t started the season yet.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

There’s a teasing smile on her face that both annoys him and makes his heart skip. He gives her a shrug as an answer, but it’s not like it matters. The busy station sits before them, their final parting point.

“Um, hey, I never asked. What’s your name?” She asks as they wait at the crosswalk to get to the station. He doesn’t even need to cross the street. Why is he still standing with her? 

“Kiyoomi Sakusa.”

She gives her name before the light changes to green, and she raises a hand in greeting. “Thank you for walking me, Sakusa-san.”

Three things happen at once. Sakusa hears Komori’s voice in his head saying,  _ get her number if you meet her again _ . He hears his own adamant denial and he reminds himself that he doesn’t believe in fate. 

Then, he says out loud, “Give me your number.” 

“Huh?”

The light is blinking now. She has about ten seconds to make a decision. She’s still standing halfway in the crosswalk and the corner. 

“I want your phone number.” He repeats. A businessman that pushes past him gives him a sympathetic look that Sakusa ignores. 

The crosswalk light turns red just as she smiles. “Okay.” 

He’s careful not to touch her hand when they exchange phones. The light changes again just as she hands his phone back, then she’s walking away for real this time, with a smile and a wave that make him take a deep breath. 

His thoughts are jumbled, his phone hot in his hand as he stalks off, clutching it between his fingers. This is all new to him. Not part of his routine. Now that Komori’s influence got him a near  _ stranger’s _ phone number, he doesn’t know what to do with it. 

He calls his cousin after he gets home and washes up, and he answers on the fourth ring. He can hear chatter from a bar in the background.

“Hey Omi, what’s up?”

“I got her number.”

“You  _ what _ ?” There’s a pause before Komori is laughing his head off, and he shouts to someone behind him. “Washio, you owe me a beer!” 

*  
  


Sakusa isn’t good at texting. 

He knows it, Komori knows it, everyone who knows him knows it.

He isn’t attached to his device like Atsumu is, he isn’t constantly calling or texting someone like Bokuto is, he doesn’t like taking pictures of random animals on the street like Hinata does. He mostly uses it for the rare calls to his family, updates about practice and games, tracking stats and videos about different players and teams in the V League. 

So when she starts texting him daily, he doesn’t know what to answer. Scratch that, he doesn’t know  _ how  _ to answer.

It starts off simply. Little things like,  _ good morning! I hope today is a good day _ ! He answers,  _ thank you _ . That’s all.

Then it’s questions like,  _ how often do you practice? Do you like any other sports _ ? He watches baseball sometimes. He finds out she’s really big into music, especially DJs and EDM club sets. 

Once she even sends a picture message of her in a little apron, making rice balls for the kids, holding up a peace sign. He stares at that picture for longer than he cares to admit but he doesn’t have the guts to send one in return. He responds,  _ work hard today _ .

He’s grown so used to little daily messages that when she doesn’t message him for  _ two whole days _ , he’s beside himself. He checks his phone an awkward amount, waiting for a late  _ good afternoon _ ! text that doesn’t come. He showers after practice and expects a picture of her dinner or something else mundane, but even that isn’t there. 

That’s when he realizes there’s a problem. She’s mad at him—maybe, possibly (but he hasn’t done anything to warrant it.) Maybe she’s sick. Maybe she lost her phone. Maybe she doesn’t want to talk to him. He feels like his head is about to explode with the possibilities. One girl and his head is already a mess. He doesn’t understand how Atsumu has numerous flings waiting in the wings. 

He wants to ask someone for advice, but who can he ask? Komori sighs every time Sakusa says nothing has happened yet. Telling Atsumu would mean telling the whole team because Miya has the biggest mouth ever. Hinata and Bokuto are both taken so they’re a possibility, but Bokuto’s loose lips would mean an accidental slip to Akaashi or others on the team, and Hinata can barely flirt with his boyfriend Kageyama, let alone another person. 

He catches their captain Meian just as the man walks into the locker room after cleaning and Sakusa makes up his mind. He walks over with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Captain, can I talk to you privately?”

The captain glances around the noisy locker room before he nods. “Sure, let’s step outside.”

As soon as the door closes behind him and Sakusa makes sure there’s no one in the hallway, he asks, “What does it mean when a girl doesn’t text you for two days?”

Meian wasn’t expecting that question. Sakusa can tell by the way his eyebrows shoot up cartoonishly high. “Did you have a fight?”

“No.”

“What’s the last thing you said?”

“She told me to have a good practice and I said I would.”

Meian purses his lips before a second before he tilts his head to the right. “Have you texted her?”

Sakusa thinks about it. In their weeks of correspondence, he’s  _ never  _ texted her first, he realizes. She’s always been the one to reach out to him, the one to send him little updates, the one to send him pictures that he looks at far too often for what could barely be considered his friend. He slowly shakes his head.

“She probably thinks you aren’t interested. You should message her more often if you’re worried about it.”

Text her first? What the hell can he say? He gruffly thanks the captain for his advice, slings his duffel bag further up his shoulder, and leaves with a bow. He debates on it the whole walk home, his feet carrying him on auto-pilot. When he makes it to the crosswalk where he first got her number, he finally pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens their message thread.

_ Hi _ . 

A simple message. Almost too simple. He sounds like an idiot. He sends another quick one.

_ Did you have a good day today _ ?

He makes it back to his apartment, inputs his code, throws his bag down, hangs up his mask, turns on his robot vacuum cleaner, washes his hands and face, checks his phone.

There’s two messages from her.

_ Good evening!! (=^-ω-^=) My day was very busy! Did you have a good practice, Sakusa-san? _

_ The walk home was very boring without you! Would you like to walk together another time soon? _

She asks so many  _ questions _ . Writes long messages that require thought to answer. Texts like she speaks: cheerful, cheeky, kind. It’s like a puzzle he has to figure out, a volleyball game that needs an adjustment and a solution before the team can win. He writes something, erases it for being too simple. Writes another thing, erases it for being too convoluted. 

Eventually he settles on:  _ Practice went alright. I think the team will be good this year. I don’t have practice tomorrow. Do you need someone to escort you home? I thought your house was close. _

He doesn’t close the message. He watches it with hawk eyes as the typing bubbles pop up then disappear. They pop up again and don’t go away.

_ It is but I want to see you if that’s alright _ .

He should have asked Meian about  _ this,  _ because now he has no fucking clue what to do about his rapidly beating heart.

*  
  
Their walks become part of his routine. On his off days, he meets her in front of her daycare and walks her back to the station where they part. It’s barely a half an hour out of his day but he looks forward to it whenever he doesn’t have practice. He makes up excuses in his head— _it’s a chivalrous thing to do, it’s exercise for him, the end of summer air feels great_ —but he knows they’re all lies. 

The truth is he  _ wants  _ to see her. Anyone else and he would have told them to walk home themselves. But with her, it’s different. The way her eyes light up when she talks about a new album she likes, the way she listens intently as he talks about the mechanics of spiking, the way she smiles as bright as the full moon as they part. She respects his space, keeps her distance, even wears a mask on the days she says a kid had a cold. She’s respectful, kind, considerate. Being with her, even for the short moments they can be, makes this whole day. 

But all good things must come to an end.

“The season will start next week,” he tells her one night before she can walk off. “I don’t think I’ll be able to walk you home for a while.”

“Oh,” she breathes out. The disappointment is clear on her face, even though she’s smiling. “Of course! You’ll be traveling all over, right? Will I still get to see you during the season at least?”

“I don’t know.”

Her smile slips a little bit at his honesty and a small nagging voice in his head says,  _ say something else _ . But he doesn’t, because he doesn’t know what would make her happy. 

“Then maybe…” She starts, shifting on her feet. “Maybe we could go out after your season is over? To catch up, you know.”

“The season ends in April.”

“I know.”

“We can still message.”

“I know.”

He stares at her for a second, sees the nervousness shining on her face from the blinking lights around them. It takes a few moments for his brain to make the connection. 

“Are you asking me on a date?”

She nods her head. “Whenever you’re not busy. I know volleyball is the most important thing.”

He considers it for a moment, plays with ideas in his head. Then he answers with a gruff, “I don’t see why not.”

Her smile is nearly blinding. “Okay!” Then she checks the light behind her and sees it turn green, so she turns with a wave. “I’ll message you later then!”

For the first time in his life, Sakusa wants to reach out and grab her hand. He wants to hold it and see how warm it is, see how small her fingers are compared to his. He wants her to wait another few seconds so he can savor the smile on her face, the way her eyes sparkle when she looks up at him.

But he doesn’t. He sees her off with a head nod and a sense of regret.

*   
  


“You’re making her wait until  _ April _ ?!”

Sakusa glares at his cousin and Komori immediately quiets down, checking all around him. It’s the first home game of the season, coincidentally against EJP Raijin, and the libero stands before him with an incredulous shake of his head. 

“I say this as your friend, but what is wrong with you, man? Making her wait over  _ six months _ ?”

“The volleyball season is the most important thing, she said it herself,” Sakusa reminds him with a huff. “I need to focus completely on the game or I’ll be useless to the team. If something goes wrong, it will hurt my play.”

“It’s a date, not a marriage,” Komori shakes his head. “Stop thinking of the consequences for once and think about what you want to do. Can you actually wait six months without seeing her?”

Sakusa thinks,  _ probably _ . They’ve been messaging like normal, sending a few texts back and forth each day. He’s trying to be more conscientious of it now that he knows. He sees her in the pictures she sends, and he’s even sent one back, of him in this season’s uniforms once they got distributed. That’s enough for him.

“Hey, warm-ups! Motoya, get over here!” Washio yells, with a head nod toward Sakusa in acknowledgement. Komori leaves with a wave and another shake of his head, telling Sakusa to think about it.

He can think about it later though, not when the game is about to start. Part of his routine is drowning out the yells and cheers from all around him, focusing on his breathing and his stretching before the games begin. He’s confident in his serves, practiced them to death over the years, but he still needs to have a good mindset so he can play a good game. He carries that calm with him even after the game begins and they go up a few points.

On his first service ace, the crowd roars, and he hears the strangest thing. It sounds like  _ her  _ voice calling  _ his  _ name. He checks the stands quickly but he doesn’t see her. He writes it off as he continues to play, even forgets about it until they eventually win 3-1.

He makes it back to the locker room after bows and thank yous to the other team. Part of his routine now is checking his phone before he goes to shower first. 

There’s three messages from her waiting for him.

The first is a picture of her in the stands of his game. Wearing  _ his  _ jersey and a gold ribbon in her hair, the same color as his team. _ It  _ was  _ her voice _ , he thinks incredulously. 

_ I came to support your first home game! ヽ(=^･ω･^=)丿 You probably won’t be able to hear me, but I’ll cheer as loud as I can! I hope you do well!! _

Then, just a few minutes ago:  _ You’re amazing! Your spikes are so powerful! Congratulations on the win!! Do you think I can see you for a moment? I’ll wait outside the entrance until the new hour. _

He checks the clock. There’s fifteen minutes left. He shoots her a quick answer. _ I’ll shower and come see you. Give me ten minutes. _

Sakusa doesn’t even see her answer before he runs off to the showers, washing off faster than he ever has in his life. He doesn’t bother drying his hair yet, dressing and grabbing his phone just as the other members of the team start to make their way to the showers. Hinata yells something to him but he ignores it, leaving the locker room and heading to the front door of the gymnasium.

She’s waiting for him there, checking her phone and looking all around her. She spots him and gives him a large wave, clutching the strap of her bag as she quickly approaches. The large smile on her face drops slightly when she gets close enough.

“You’re not wearing your mask?”

He isn’t. He rushed out of the locker room so quickly that he had forgotten to grab it on his way out. Is that how badly he wanted to see her? He can’t believe it himself.

“It’s fine.” He’s surprised he actually means it.

“Wait, I have one if you need one!” She exclaims, digging around in her purse before pulling out a package of three black ones. 

“Why do you have masks with you?”

“For you,” she admits. There’s a slight coloring in her cheeks. “I started buying them when we started walking home together, just in case.”

Komori’s voice is suddenly in his head again.  _ Can you actually wait six months without seeing her?  _ He’d thought _ , probably _ . But now he knows the answer. He  _ can’t _ . Just looking at pictures won’t be enough, not when he won’t be able to see the quirk of her lips, the flush on her cheeks, hear the excitement in her voice when she talks to him. 

“I don’t want to wait until April,” he suddenly says. She blinks at him in confusion. “I’ll be back from Tokyo next week. Go on a date with me then.”

She holds the mask pack closer to her jersey ( _ his _ jersey) and enthusiastically nods a few times. “Okay, I will.”

All her nodding makes a piece of hair fall out of her ponytail. And Sakusa finally gives into the itching in his hands, that persistent want to actually  _ touch  _ her that’s lingered for nearly two weeks now, and he tucks it behind her ear before jerking his hand away. 

The need to wash his hand looms deep in his gut but it’s overpowered by something else. The need to do it again, just to see her shyly smiling like she is right now. 

*  
  


He arrives at the restaurant before she does. He picked a popular but sort of hidden sushi place after fretting for a whole day over it. It’s casual enough that she won’t be overwhelmed, small enough that he won’t be overwhelmed, and if the date goes badly, easy enough to sneak out after a quick dinner. 

Komori told him not to think of the consequences but he can’t help it. He likes talking to her, likes their casual acquaintanceship where he can pine from afar without the heavy strings attached. He enjoys seeing her pictures, even better if he can see her smile in person. He knows that, but his brain automatically reverts to  _ she’s going to hate the date and stop talking to you _ as a first line of defense. He’s crap with communication but that somehow hasn’t deterred her so far. It’s easier to talk about things over message than in person and he doesn’t even have his track jacket to stuff his hands in his pockets. He has a  _ blazer  _ on, of all things, since that’s what the internet says is proper date attire. 

As soon as it hits seven o’clock, she pops into the restaurant with a happy grin. She’s in a dress that goes to her knees that’s decorated with palm tree leaves, little heels that bring her to just below his ear, hair lightly curled and pushed back behind her ear. It’s not  _ cute  _ that pops into his head this time but  _ beautiful _ . 

He’s an idiot. He can’t do this. He’s panicking but trying not to let it show.

“I’m sorry, have you been waiting long?” she asks when she slips into the chair next to him.

“About ten minutes. I thought you might come earlier.”

“I did but I got lost,” she laughs and pulls out a small bottle of hand sanitizer from her purse. He stares at it as she sanitizes her hands. Is that for him too, like her masks? “I’m not very good with directions so it’s a good thing you walk me home.”

“I’m sure you would have figured it out on your own.” He responds, then a second later realizes  _ oh, she was flirting with me.  _ But she only laughs and grabs the menu, asks him about his favorite types of sushi and his favorite foods. 

If it were anyone else, the date would have been awkward. He’s more nervous than he is during playoff games and it’s hard to form words that don’t make him sound like an idiot. He’s overthinking everything he wants to say now that he knows it’s an official date, worried that he’ll say something that will ruin the entire thing. But she fills in the blanks, asks him the right questions, gives him smiles that fluster him and make him clear his throat. He’d been certain that he’d want to run out of the restaurant after the date was finished, but now that the moment is here, he doesn’t want to leave.

He pays even though she insists she wants to split and then they walk back together toward the main road so they can catch a taxi together. On the way, she stops in front of a crane machine on the street with a few plush animals inside. 

“Isn’t that cute?” she points to a stuffed shark near the back. “Can I try?”

“I’m not sure why you’re asking me for permission,” he shrugs. He wouldn’t be caught dead touching those germ machines but it’s not his choice. 

“I don’t want to be rude!” She responds then digs into her wallet for some coins. 

She tries a few times, always coming close but no cigar, and the shark sits on the edge of the hole, waiting to fall over. But she turns to him with a resigned shrug and a  _ I guess it’s not my lucky day _ ! He eyes the plush, eyes her, then digs into his own pocket for coins. He hands them to her without saying anything, and when she refuses to accept, he puts the money in the machine for her anyway and silently gestures at the joystick. 

It only takes two more times for the shark to come plummeting out of the machine and she retrieves it with an excited squeal. Sakusa knows then that he’d pay any money to make her happy. It’s a strange feeling that blooms in his chest, one he’s never felt before, one that makes him want to tear off his mask and shout,  _ I like you _ . But he keeps it in somehow and they eventually find a taxi to take together. 

The plush sits on her lap, her once more sanitized hand so close to his as it rests on the taxi seat. He looks at it for a long moment before forcing his eyes away. He wants to touch her again. He’s jealous that the goddamn  _ shark  _ gets to be on her lap without any of the worries he has right now. All he has to do is set his hand on hers, right? That’s what Komori or Bokuto or Atsumu would do (actually, he doesn’t want to think about what else Atsumu would be doing.) But a nagging voice in his head says,  _ what if she tugs her hand away? What if she doesn’t want it? What if he’s reading her completely wrong? _

He sets his hand right down next to hers and does what any normal person would do. He sets his pinky over hers and his heart nearly leaps out of his chest when her hand scoots slightly closer and she wraps her ring finger around his. She doesn’t look at him but there’s a shy smile on her face as she stares out at the passing lights of the city. And that’s when Sakusa decides to be bold for the first time in his life. 

“I’m not good at relationships,” he says, and she turns to look at him. “I’ll probably be a terrible boyfriend because I have no experience. I’m not good at communicating or picking up on clues. It won’t be easy because I’m busy with volleyball half the year and training the other half.” She doesn’t say anything so he goes on. “But I like you. I don’t want you to see other people.”

She stares back at him with wide eyes, her glossed lips opening slightly. He’s surprised her with his sudden confession. 

But then she surprises him right back.

“I like you too. I want to be your girlfriend,” she bluntly states. (Maybe they’ve been talking too much.) “If you ask me, I’ll say yes.”

He nearly tugs his hand away from hers so she can’t tell how sweaty he’s become, how much adrenaline runs through his body that threatens to make him tremble, but he somehow keeps himself steady.

“Be my girlfriend,” he mumbles. It’s barely audible over the news coming from the speakers, and it’s muffled behind his mask. 

For a second he thinks she didn’t hear it, but then her fingers squeeze his pinky and he knows.

“Alright.”

And that’s that. 

*  
  


Christmas is quickly approaching and Sakusa is determined to make their first one together special. It’s important to her, she’s mentioned it a few times in passing during their video calls, and he’ll be back in time from an out-of-town match to meet her. He’s asked Komori for advice on what they should do but all of it sounds absolutely awful. Ice skating, shopping, lights in the park. The thought of being around tons of people makes his stomach flip and his frown deepen. 

The big mistake is his own fault. At dinner with the rest of the squad after a grueling practice, he sets down his chopsticks and turns to Shouyou Hinata. 

“What are you doing for Christmas?”

Hinata blinks, looks at Bokuto, then shrugs. “Nothing at all. Kageyama has a game so we can’t meet.”

Bokuto grins. “I’m taking Akaashi to a movie then to this pancake place that’s popular on Instagram. Why, do you want to come, Omi-san?”

“No.”

“I can ask! But I don’t think Akaashi will want someone on our date with us.”

“I said I don’t want to go with you.”

Atsumu Miya leans back in his seat next to Bokuto with a sly grin in his face. “Are ya askin’ cause ya got a date?”

Sakusa hesitates long enough that the table suddenly erupts in shouts. Hinata and Bokuto are asking idiotic questions about his girlfriend and Atsumu laments, “He got a date an’ I don’t?” 

“It’s none of your business. I’m asking for ideas. I’m not going to tell you anything.”

“Oh come on,” Atsumu rests an elbow on the table. “We’re friends.”

Sakusa doesn’t like the sound of that. 

His phone vibrates on the table and he realizes it’s the time they’ve set up a video call, so her photo is on full display as she waits for him to answer.  _ Shit _ . 

“Is that her?!” Hinata asks as he leans over to look. 

Bokuto is right on his shoulder. “Answer it!!”

“I’ll call her back later.” Sakusa grumbles. He does  _ not _ want these loud imbeciles to see her. 

“Don’t leave her hanging!” Hinata begs and the spiker swipes across his phone for him to answer before Sakusa can stop it. 

Instead of his face, his girlfriend is greeted with three other MSBY Black Jackals players who lean over his shoulder to get a good look at her. 

“Oh— hello?” She greets with a smile. “Is Sakusa-san there?”

“Get off me,” Sakusa frowns and swats at his teammates. His chest is tight from the close proximity of the three idiots and he grabs the phone so they can’t see her anymore. “I’ll call you back in a minute.”

Atsumu whistles as soon as he hangs up the phone, sitting back down in his seat. “I didn’ think ya had it in ya, Omi-Omi.”

“She’s really pretty!” Bokuto exclaims. 

“How did you meet?” Hinata’s eyes are wide with excitement.

Sakusa ignores them all. “I’m going back up to the room first.”

He grabs his jacket from the back of his chair and stalks off to the hotel’s elevator, but not before hearing Atsumu ask, “Ya think he kissed her yet?”

The answer is no. They’ve barely even started holding hands. It was hard for him at first, the itch to pull his hand away from hers always looming in his gut and making him stiff. But he’s gotten used to it, now enjoys the feeling of her small hands in his. They’re warm and smooth in comparison to his cold and calloused ones. 

His annoyance still radiates off of him even after he’s showered and called her back. She laughs off the situation, telling him it’s fine, but it’s not. It’s an invasion of privacy that he wasn’t keen to offer in the first place. Next practice, he’ll aim his spikes straight at all their stupid heads, he decides. 

But there is one silver lining. The setter’s question lingers long after they’ve hung up the phone.  _ Ya think he kissed her yet?  _ No, but now he knows what he can give her for Christmas.

If he has the courage, at least. 

*  
  


No matter where they go, there’s  _ people _ around. So many people, so many couples, so many laughs and smiles and  _ squeals _ . He can’t handle it. He’s trying hard not to let her see it because they haven’t exactly  _ done _ anything except walk around yet, but by the time they make it to the restaurant, his entire body feels like he’s played three volleyball games back to back. He wants to shrink into himself and get away from everyone. He needs a break, a moment to recharge, but when they walk into the restaurant, every single table is taken. His hand tightens in hers to the point she winces and tries to pull away. 

He mumbles an apology and lessens his grip very reluctantly. She’s keeping him tethered here like a string on a balloon. If not, he would float away to the clouds just to be alone finally. 

“My stomach hurts a little bit,” she says in the lobby, giving him a guilty look. “Is it okay if I go to the bathroom? It might take a bit. You can wait outside.” 

Outside there’s still a ton of people, but it’s better than inside where he feels like he’ll faint. He nods, waits against the wall for her, fiddles with the boxed necklace he has in his coat pocket as her present. She appears barely five minutes later, looping her arm around his. Didn't she say it would take a while? 

“I’m not feeling well. Is it okay if we go home?”

Hell yes it is, but he gives the weakest head shake. “You wanted to go to this restaurant for a while.”

“We can always come back,” she grins and tugs on his arm. She is assuredly  _ not _ acting like she’s feeling bad. “Can you walk me home? We’re close enough.” 

He eyes her suspiciously but relents, walking through the snow-dusted streets until they reach their usual crosswalk. She doesn’t let go of his arm and practically drags him across the street, leading him down a few side streets until they stand in front of an older three-story apartment complex. 

“I left your gift upstairs. Will you come up with me to get it?”

His whole body freezes. He’s not a stranger to the implications, but they haven’t even kissed yet and he’s not ready for  _ that _ . 

“I’d rather not.”

“Please? It’s not—” she flushes when she realizes what she’s said. “No, I mean, not for that. For your gift. I want you to have it and, um.”

“I’ll wait for you here.” 

“Kiyoomi Sakusa,” she frowns and sets her hands in her hips. “We’re going upstairs.”

She can’t see it but his frown matches hers beneath his mask. “I don’t see why you’re so adamant about this. I already said no and it’s starting to annoy me.”

She sucks in a breath, lips moving as she thinks about what to say, before it all comes out.

“I saw you were uncomfortable at the restaurant so I didn’t want to force you to stay, and I asked the restaurant if they do takeout and they  _ don’t _ , so when I was in the bathroom I ordered us McDonald’s for dinner and it’ll be here any minute, and your gift really  _ is _ upstairs and I thought we could eat and watch a movie, just the two of us, but if you hate it, you can go.”

It’s a lot to keep up with, especially with how fast it all tumbles out of her mouth. When his brain registers it all, the tension in his body nearly evaporates. She had seen right through him (though he’s sure he was obvious) and given up her wants for his comfort. Her thoughtfulness renders him speechless for a moment.

“But… you wanted to go out for Christmas.”

“I don’t care what we do,” she whispers. “I’m happy as long as I’m with you.”

Her eyes are shining as she stares up at him. There’s snowflakes falling all around her, landing in her braided updo, settling on her black jacket. Her rosy lipstick matches her rosy cheeks and makes her look like a doll. Sakusa doesn’t know what to say.

So he doesn’t say anything.

He tugs his mask down and leans forward, setting a gloved hand on her cheek. He brings her closer and kisses her in a hasty press of their lips, warmth flooding through him when she kisses him back. Her fingers tighten in the lapels of his coat as she tilts her head to get closer to him.

He’s thought about what his first kiss would be like before. He always expected to feel repulsed at the prospect of germs or maybe dirty with a need to brush his teeth. But actually kissing her now, their lips still moving, bodies melded together, it’s nothing like that. He doesn’t want to let her go even when he has to breathe. She’s the only one he would ever dare to let under his mask like this. 

The rumble of a scooter makes them break apart. She only pulls far enough away so she can see him, and her warm breath fans across his face and makes him want to kiss her again. She’s staring at him with so much love in her eyes that it makes his breath hitch and heart jump.

But it’s okay, because he’s staring at her the exact same way. 

*  
  


It’s a lonely night in his apartment. Sakusa thinks he’d be used to it by now but after six months with his girlfriend, he isn’t. Not anymore. The new year came and went, the end of the season approaching quickly, and their win yesterday had sealed a place for MSBY in the playoffs. That’s why Meian had given them the day off, and some of the guys—Atsumu and Barnes at least—are celebrating at “the hottest new club in Osaka.” He’d give up volleyball before stepping into a germ den like that, not to anyone’s surprise.

The only problem is that she is already busy tonight, something he’s known about for a few weeks.

A famous DJ is playing at some bar and she’s been excited ever since it was announced, so he can’t ask her to cancel. Not when she sends him a picture of her and her friends all dressed up to go out, bright smiles on their faces. The tight little dress she wears makes his throat go dry and he has to swallow back the  _ want  _ that makes him shift on his couch. 

_ You look great. Have fun, stay safe.  _

_ I’ll text you when I’m home! ٩꒰ ˘ ³˘꒱۶~♡ _

He can’t ask for more than that, but for some reason, he’s restless. Even watching videos of the Adlers game so he can study Ushijima’s spikes doesn’t make him feel better, nor does watching highlights of his own game on the sports news channels. He decides to clean his kitchen even though it’s already clean, putting on one of the albums she lent him. It’s not really his style of music but it makes him think of her. Is this the music she’s dancing to right now? 

It’s just after ten when she gets another picture message from her. Her cheeks are a shade of pink and there’s a drink in her hand. She smiles flirtatiously at the camera and the message below says,  _ Wishing I was with you. The DJ will be on soon _ !

He wishes she was here too, sitting on his couch, talking about everything and nothing. She’s been to his apartment a few times now, curled up next to him as they watch a movie, her fingers dancing all over the skin of his hand and wrist. If he closes his eyes, he can practically feel her touch on him and it makes him shiver. They haven’t gone further than light pecks but he can’t deny that he’s thought about  _ more _ . And those thoughts are brought to the forefront of his mind the longer he stares at the picture she sent.

_ I wish you were here too but you should have fun with your friends. Focus on them, text me later. _

That’s simple and truthful enough, right?

There’s another picture of strobe lights and a far away booth with the caption,  _ Starting now!! _ then he doesn’t get anything from her for a solid two hours. 

His next message isn’t from her, but from Atsumu.

_ Isn’t this ya girl? She’s got some moves lol _

It’s a blurry video from the balcony at a club, focused on a spot in a throng of people that dance without care. And in the middle of that group is his girlfriend, swaying and jumping with her two friends to a loud bass beat before it cuts off. Part of him is surprised that Atsumu remembers her face from all those months ago, but the other part is jealous that  _ Atsumu  _ of all people gets to see his girlfriend dancing and having fun before he can see it himself.

He ignores his question and asks instead,  _ Is the DJ finished? _

_ Ya, a bit ago, why? _

He doesn’t answer. He grabs his MSBY jacket and mask, then nearly runs out of his apartment to hail a taxi to the name of the club he saw on a sign in the video. It’s about 12:30 when he arrives at the building and he immediately wanders away from the crowded front doors to stand at the entrance of a darkened building across the street. 

He feels like an idiot now that he’s actually standing here waiting for her. She didn’t say when she’d be done and it looked like she was having fun. Now he has to wait for her, and for how long, he isn’t sure. But the pressing need to see her, to be with her, is eating him up inside. He wants to be the one she dances with, the one who gets to see her smile and laugh and yell lyrics to her favorite songs. It’s so unlike him that he feels overwhelmed. He feels like he’d do anything for her, even brave a disgusting germ factory like the club she’s at, just to get a glimpse of her smile. His hands flex and relax in his pockets, nervous energy making him pace around the front door of the closed business.

Luckily, it’s only been twenty minutes when she sends him a string of messages.

_ Can I come over? _

_ I promise I’ll go home and shower beforehand.  _

_ The DJ was fun but I miss you more. _

_ I want to see you. _

She’s just as desperate for him as he is for her. It makes his lips quirk up.

_ I’m actually outside the club, across the street. _

_ ∑（｡･Д･｡）??? _

It’s a few minutes later when he sees her exit the front doors, looking left and right for any sign of him. When she spots him, she crosses in the middle of the street and he makes a note to scold her for not using the nearby crosswalk.

“Sakusa-san!” she gasps when she arrives in front of him. She’s sweaty all over, hair sticking to her neck, her dress even tighter than the picture. He lets his eyes roam over her figure before he snaps them up, pretending he wasn’t ogling her. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you. Did I interrupt your night?”

“No, no, of course not,” she placates him. “If we catch a taxi, I can—”

“Come back to my apartment,” he interrupts. Her eyes widen at his demand. “You can shower there. I have clothes you can borrow and an extra room you can sleep in if you feel uncomfortable.”

It’s a big leap for their relationship. She’s stayed late a few times but she’s never spent the night before. But Sakusa’s mouth works faster than his brain, before he can figure out the reason he’s offering in the first place. The truth is, he wants her to be there in the morning when he wakes up. He wants to feel her next to him while he sleeps. Most of all, he just wants  _ her _ .

“I—yes. If that’s alright,” she immediately answers with a wide smile on her flushed face. 

It’s more than alright and he tells her that with a tug of her arm to the closest taxi.

*

The sound of his shower shutting off makes him sit up straighter on his couch. He’s waited for her to finish, already has his hair dryer plugged into the wall and ready to use. There’s not a tired bone in his body now that she’s actually here and he feels like he could run a few laps around his building with the nervous energy running through him. 

Soft footsteps pad through his hallway and she peeks her head out to see him. His shirt goes to her mid-thigh and his shorts look like a tent that goes down to her knees. She clutches the towel in her hands as she shyly walks into the living room and sits down next to him. 

“Thank you for letting me borrow your clothes.”

“They’re way too big on you.” It’s all he can say without spilling out,  _ you look cute anyway, you can wear them whenever you want, I’ll buy you something to use later if you promise to stay again.  _

She whines in embarrassment. “You’re like… twice the size I am.”

It makes him snort. He scoots back on his couch and taps the front of it, in between his legs. “I’ll dry your hair for you.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to! You can go to sleep, I’ll be quick.”

“I want to, so sit down.”

She tries to hide her smile behind her hand as she takes the offered seat on the floor. She brushes her hair out with one of his unused brushes then he gets to work. She doesn’t move or complain once as he threads his fingers through her hair to dry it. When he finishes, she turns back, eyelashes fluttering as she looks up at him.

“Thank you.”

“You already said that.”

“No, I mean… I know how hard it is for you to do things like this,” she sets her chin on her palm and smiles. “I’m always thankful that you’re trying for me.”

Her words send a spark through his veins, a fluttering in his stomach. Of course he would try for her. He likes her, so much that it’s honestly a bit scary. He never really understood what Komori meant when he talked about love. Romance movies always bored him because he couldn’t imagine acting in such a reckless manner. A fuzzy feeling, a drive to make the other person happy. He didn’t get it. Not until she walked into his life with an ugly yellow vest and a smile that could melt an entire ice castle.

“Come here.” His command is gruff and low.

“Huh?”

“Come here,” he repeats and grabs hold of her arm, tugging her up from the floor. 

She falls into his lap unceremoniously and catches herself with one hand on the back of his couch. His hand on her back pushes her closer, another hand on the back of her neck bringing her to him. Their kiss is needy and near desperate, her legs straddling him and fingers clutching his night shirt as he pulls their hips together. When her lips part, he pushes his tongue inside her mouth and relishes in the small sound she makes. 

It’s messy and he doesn’t know what he’s doing but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Their tongues dance together like the people at the club, their bodies pressed against each other so tightly that he can feel her heavy breaths against his chest. His teeth lightly graze her bottom lip and she pulls back with a soft gasp. 

“ _ Omi _ .”

Whatever restraint he has left is thrown out the window with that one word. He pulls her down into him again, mashing their lips together, his tongue seeking the warmth of hers. His fingers get tangled in her half-damp hair; his other hand bunches her shirt in his palm. He can feel every bit of her against him and it sends electricity running up and down his spine. He wants to drown in her warmth, in the soft sounds she makes when their tongues meet, in the barely audible whispers of his name when they pull back. 

He kisses her until he can’t anymore, and even then, it’s not enough. 

*   
  


She’s waiting for him back at his apartment. That fact drives him to walk faster, hands pushed deep in his sweatpants’ pockets. It’s the beginning of summer and he has more time to see her now that the season is over. They haven’t moved in together but it’s as close as it can be. She spends a few nights over a week on the days he has off, her toiletries and accessories littering his bedroom and bathroom. 

The thing about her is: she’s perceptive. She knows what he wants, how he likes things organized. If she moves a utensil and he puts it back, she doesn’t do it again. She watches him clean the apartment so the next time she cleans, it will be exactly the same. He never really has to say anything; she picks up on his quirks fast enough that he thinks she might be a mind reader. 

There’s wet clothes hanging from his balcony when he arrives back home and the mop is out, but she’s nowhere to be found. He can hear voices talking in the bedroom and he shuffles closer to listen. She doesn’t notice when he pushes open the door, too engrossed in her phone call to her friend. 

“We’re taking it slow,” she sighs. She sounds completely exasperated. 

‘ _ It’s been like ten months, how much slower can you get _ ?’ The person on the other line nearly yells.

“That’s my business, not yours. Can we please change the subject?”

‘ _ Fine, but one of these days, you’re just going to have to jump him to get what you want. Or else you might be celebate forever _ .’

That’s when Sakusa realizes exactly what they’re talking about. Him.

With her over so often, he’s seen flashes of her body, peeks of skin that jump start the dirtier thoughts in his mind. He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t masturbated once or twice to the thought of her, not that he’ll ever admit that out loud. But every time they begin to escalate or their hands begin to wander, the little itching voice in his mind reminds him,  _ you’re going to disappoint her.  _

That’s the last thing he wants to do. With volleyball, he’s had years to perfect his craft and turn his weaknesses into strengths. Practice makes perfect and he can spike over and over until his form is perfect, but sex is completely different. He doesn’t have the slightest clue where to start or what she will like, or what  _ he  _ will like, and his brain tells him, _ she’ll break up with you once she finds out how incompetent you are.  _ He wishes he could shut that voice up.

He knocks on the door lightly to catch her attention and mouths,  _ I’m home. _

“I’ll call you back later,” she tells her friend and immediately hangs up the phone before she can respond. “Omi! Welcome home. Did you…?”

“Hear your conversation? Yeah.”

There’s an awkwardness in the air now as she shifts on her feet, cradling her phone to her chest. She chews on her lip for a second before she ventures, “Don’t worry about what she said, okay? I don’t mind, really.”

“Do you want to have sex with me?”

His blunt question makes her flush but she nods anyway. “Of course I do but I don’t want to pressure you.”

He’s silent, trying to think of an answer. For a brief moment, he wishes he were someone else, because surely Atsumu or Bokuto or Hinata don’t have this many hang-ups around sleeping with their partners. It’s the next level in their relationship, a natural step, and yet the paralyzing fear of losing her to his inadequacy keeps him rooted to the floor, unable to speak or move.

“Omi,” she smiles and reaches out for him. “I’ll wait for you, whenever you’re ready.”

“I want to, too. I do.” 

There’s an unspoken  _ but _ . Usually he’s too blunt or too honest, prone to saying what he wants before thinking about it. But this time, anxiety spikes within his chest and zips his mouth closed.

“Why don’t we take a shower together?” she offers, grabbing hold of a limp hand at his side. “We can get used to seeing each other that way.”

He doesn’t remember nodding or agreeing. He must have, because she leads him to the bathroom and shuts the door behind him with a soft click. She begins to fill up his small tub with warm water, then turns back to him and watches him carefully as she shrugs out of her light cardigan then her shirt. She tugs off her leggings next and stands before him in just her underwear, hand shyly covering her mouth.

It feels like someone else is in control of his body as he lets his shirt and pants join her pile of clothes. The bulge in his boxers makes him shift uncomfortably and he tries  _ so hard _ not to let his vision wander to the swell of her covered breasts or the elastic band of her pink panties.

“Are you still alright?” she asks quietly, and he has to take a large gulp before he nods.

“Take the rest off.”

She obliges and unclasps her bra, pulls down her underwear, then she’s standing before him completely naked. Her cheeks are flushed a light pink as she stares at the floor, but she keeps her arms by her sides so he can drink in everything about her for the first time. Her body is so much better than he envisioned it and it takes every muscle in his body not to continue staring like a pervert.

With a deep breath to steel his nerves, he pulls off his boxers and steps out of them. Her eyes immediately roam his body and her mouth falls open as she studies him. 

“You’re so beautiful,” she breathes, and he notices the way her hands clench and relax by her sides like she wants to reach out and touch him but won’t let herself. 

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”

“You should,” she jokes and offers her hand to him. “Let’s get in together.”

The tub can barely fit him, let alone the both of them, but they make it work. She sits facing him, on her knees and in between his legs, the warm water covering from the bottom of her breasts down. He leans against the back of the tub with his arms on the sides, watching her with dark eyes. He’s sure she notices how hard his dick is with how close she is, but her eyes never leave his. She’s silently asking him permission for  _ something  _ but he doesn’t know what.

“What do you want?” He asks. His voice is low, gravely, and sounds nothing like him. 

“I want to touch you,” she whispers. “Can I?”

He nods his answer and sits up straighter, gulping down his nerves when she shifts closer. She’s so careful with him as she runs her fingers up his arms then his neck. She sits up further, leans down to press the softest kiss to his lips, her hands trailing down further to his chest. His skin feels like it’s burning, goosebumps rising on his flesh, his chest tight and heaving for breath.  _ I should hate this _ , he thinks, but that’s the thing. He  _ doesn’t _ . He isn’t thinking about germs, or dirtiness, or the pressing need to wash it off. He’s thinking about how good her touches feel, how she isn’t touching him  _ enough _ , how he wants to flip her over and bury himself in her until she’s yelling his name for the neighbors to hear. 

He doesn’t move as her hands move under the water and start rubbing his hips. She looks up at him with her doe-like eyes and he can’t resist leaning down to capture her lips, biting down on her lower lip before soothing the bite with his tongue. She gasps into his mouth and her hand wraps around his cock, making him squirm to get closer.

Her hand is nothing like his. It’s small, smooth, dainty. But it feels so fucking  _ good _ as squeezes him and starts to pump her hand slowly, thumb running over his tip. She’s watching him with hooded eyes, her lips falling open like his, her hand beginning to move faster. Water sloshes around them and spills over the side of the tub as he bucks into her hand.

“Sit on the edge, Omi,” she whispers to him, letting him go. He’ll do anything to get her hand on him again. 

The wall is cold against his back and the side of the tub can barely fit him, but her hand on the base of his dick makes heat spike through him. Her hand squeezes him, pumps a bit faster, and her lips kiss from his chest down to his stomach. Her tongue runs along hip bone and then she looks up at him, silently asking his permission. He doesn’t know what comes over him. 

“Suck it,” his fingers wrap in her hair and tug her closer to his waiting dick. 

He idly wonders if he said the wrong thing, but her cheeks flush the lightest pink and she nods, taking him into her pretty little mouth. The growl he lets out is nearly animalistic, and her tongue runs along the bottom of his length before she starts bobbing. 

He heaves for breath as he watches her suck him off, his hand tight in her hair, sweat dripping down his temples. It’s so erotic watching her take as much of him as she can, her fingernails digging deep into his thighs, and his body is aflame as she moves faster. She runs her tongue over his slit and his hips jerk into her mouth, making her moan around him. The vibrations make his stomach clench and his hand tug at the back of her hair. 

She looks up at him through wet eyelashes and sucks him harder, her fingers ghosting over his balls, and he knows he won’t last much longer. Not with the way she stares at him like that and the way her mouth grips him like a vice. 

He barely has time to warm her before he’s cumming in her mouth, his body shuddering as he hits his climax. She squeals and pulls back, and he watches with half-lidded eyes as she swallows. Some of his cum dribbles down the side of her chin and he leans forward to drag it up into her mouth.

“Show me,” he demands, and she obediently opens her empty mouth for his thumb. 

She looks really good like that, he decides, with her red, swollen lips and blown pupils. He knows immediately that he wants to  _ ruin _ her.

*

His name is the only thing spilling from her lips as he pounds into her from behind, his hand that’s buried in her head forcing her head up to look at herself in the mirror across from them. He’s buried in her for the second time that night but it’s still not enough. Their first time sleeping together had lit a fire within him, one he knows won’t die for a long while, and he’s been hooked on the feeling of her since. 

Sakusa likes making her clench around his cock. He likes making her scream his name until she’s hoarse. He likes making her  _ dirty _ because he’s the only one who gets to clean her up.

“Look at how well your cunt takes me,” he grunts with a hard snap of his hips. His eyes meet hers in the mirror and she moans loudly. “Does it feel good, baby?”

“Yes, Omi,  _ yes _ ,” she gasps and grinds back into him, fingers bunching in their comforter. “Feels so fucking good.”

Her walls clench around him and Sakusa hisses, forcing her head back down into the mattress. His pace is relentless and he knows she’s close to cumming again with the way she’s begging him for release and tightening around him. 

“So fucking greedy.” His statement is peppered with a slap to her ass. “You want to cum again?”

“Wanna cum around your cock, Omi, please!” Her fingers are working furious circles around her already swollen clit, her eyes closed and mouth hanging open. 

“Go on then, cum for me. Let everyone know who owns this pussy.”

She practically screams his name as she hits her high for the third time that night, her walls clenching around him so tightly that it makes him groan and dig his nails into her sides. A few more pumps and he joins her, a choked groan of her name leaving his lips as his entire body shudders. 

He keeps her from collapsing into the mattress with a gentle hand on her hips, pressing soft kisses to her sweaty back as they both catch their breath. 

“Okay?” He asks as he runs a hand over her reddened ass. Sometimes he doesn’t know his own strength.

“I’m fine,” she turns her head and smiles at him tiredly. “But you might have to carry me to the bathroom.”

He grins against her skin, presses another kiss to the small of her back, then pulls out of her. She whines at the loss and he carefully ties and tosses the condom before he scoops her into his arms. Their after sex routine is always the same: they wash each other, touches gentle, love whispered between kisses. 

“Happy first anniversary,” she smiles as she sets her forehead against his, eyes closed. “Love you.”

It’s not the first time he’s heard it, but it feels like the first time every time. He hopes the feeling never fades. 

“I love you too,” he mumbles and seals it with a kiss to her temple. 

*

Sakusa thinks he’s a lucky person. Not in the traditional sense where only good things happen to him, no, but in another way. He’s lucky to have found a talent in volleyball, lucky to have made a career out of his passion, lucky that he can wake up every morning and do what he loves.

But Sakusa thinks the luckiest thing in his life is seeing her in the stands at his home games, wearing his jersey, yelling encouragement to not only him but all of his teammates too. 

After the game he’ll take her home, wrap his arms around her, whisper his love into the crown of her hair, make sure she knows how much he appreciates and values everything she does for him.

There’s nothing better than that. 


	7. Marriage Material (Ittetsu Takeda/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the three t's in your life: takoyaki. trauma. takeda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise double chapter drop?!  
> i wrote this as a break from the sakusa chapter and it's nearly 10k on its own lol  
> it's more "mature" because takeda is older, so the main conflict is about marriage and pregnancy is mentioned at the end  
> shoutout to my coach simps, ittetsu takeda deserves love and happiness and all the good things  
> fem!reader, 9.6k words

It’s takoyaki and Asahi Super Dry that brings the two of you together. 

It’s a lukewarm May night that’s been made even warmer by your beer jacket. You had stopped at the bar to meet a friend in Sendai before you were set to become a couch bum in the countryside for the time being. Freelancing was easy work but it didn’t pay the best; luckily an old college friend in Miyagi agreed to let you stay with her for a bit to get back on your feet. So as a last hoorah, you decided to drink the night away, unsure when or if you’d have the opportunity again. 

Your friend, the little minx, had met a very handsome stranger and left you alone for much longer than you had planned. In your drunkenness, you’d scanned the menu for something to eat and found nothing of interest, but then someone walked in with the best smelling takoyaki of your life and you  _ had _ to have it. A food truck is parked just outside the front door and it’s calling your name with a megaphone. 

There are a few people ahead of you chatting while they wait, but it’s a voice to your left that grabs your attention. 

“Excuse me, is this the line?”

The man who asks is on the short side, dressed too warmly for the night, his square glasses and unruly black hair making him look younger than you assume he is. He looks a little nerdy but he’s kinda cute anyway, or are those your beer goggles talking? 

“I think so? I dunno. I kind of crowded around the other people.”

“Oh, alright. I guess I’ll wait here too.” His smile makes his eyes disappear. 

“Sure, if you want.” 

You two stand in silence while the people in front of you order, but they’re taking  _ forever _ and your stomach rumbles in protest. 

“God I’m hungry,” you pat your stomach impatiently as you complain. “And slightly drunk, but mostly hungry.” 

“I think he’s going as fast as he can.” The man responds with an awkward scratch to the back of his head.

“Oh, I know that but my stomach doesn’t know that.” 

The people in front of you leave with their takeout takoyaki and you pat your sides to pull out your wallet… only it’s not there. You check every pocket you have when you suddenly remember you left it in your coat, the one that’s upstairs, draped across the back of your chair. 

“Aw shit.”

The black-haired man, who had been reading the menu, blinks at you with his hazel eyes. “Everything okay?”

“I left my wallet upstairs,” you lament with a pout. In your affected brain, this is the  _ worst _ thing that could possibly happen and tears spring to your eyes. “I’m so hungry and I just want some takoyaki.”

“Er—” The guy is straight up panicking now that he sees your tears. “Calm down, it’s okay, I can buy it for you!” 

“Wait, really?!”

“Yeah, just… don’t cry, okay?”

You cling to his arm excitedly, not missing the blush on his cheeks when you lean in. “You’re a lifesaver! What’s your name?”

“Um. Takeda. Ittetsu Takeda.”

You let Takeda go so he can order for the both of you and when the cook starts flipping the takoyaki balls over, you turn back to him.

“How can I repay you, Takeda-san?”

“It’s not a big deal, really. It’s cheap. I don’t need anything.”

“I know!” You snap your fingers. “Give me your phone! I’ll give you my number and when I come back to Sendai, I can take you out for dinner in exchange!”

“I’m—uh, I’m not actually from Sendai, so—”

“Oh wait, you can give me  _ your _ number and I’ll text you the next time I’m in town!”

He blubbers some response that you don’t register. You pull your phone from your pocket and practically force it into his hands with a wide, happy grin. 

“It’s only fair! Go on, go on.”

The takoyaki is done by the time Takeda awkwardly hands your phone back. You take it and hand him one of the cardboard trays of takoyaki before stuffing a piece in your mouth. 

“You don’t know how happy I am. Thank you  _ so _ much. I promise I’ll repay you!” You chirp as you walk back to the bar with a happy wave. 

*

By the time you wake up the next morning and catch the bus to your new home, you only half remember meeting Takeda. After finishing your takoyaki and paying your tab, you’d stumbled back to your friend’s apartment alone, since she’d gone off with Mr. Handsome to a love motel for the night. You certainly remember forcing him to give you his number but you can only remember black hair and glasses, the rest of his face a blur. 

Staring down at the number in your phone, part of you wonders if it’s a fake number. You’re no stranger to fake phone numbers, having used some yourself in other circumstances, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he put something in there just to make you go away. 

The bus ride takes an hour, and 40 minutes in, you finally work up the courage to test it. 

_ You _ [09:54] Good morning, Takeda-san! How was your takoyaki? Mine was amazing, thank you again~

He doesn’t answer by the time your bus reaches your stop and that’s when you decide, yeah it’s definitely a fake number. That’s just your luck too, with the way things have been going lately. The last few weeks of your life have been absolute shit and this is just another thing on the list. 

Your old college friend Nao is waiting for you already, a cigarette hanging from her lips, her cropped and bleached hair a big change from the last time you saw her. 

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” she grins as she drops her finished cigarette and gives you a hug. 

“Wish it was under better circumstances.”

“Whatever, Tokyo is stuffy anyway. It’s nice and laid-back here, I think you’ll like it.”

You don’t have the heart to tell her you probably won’t. You’re always looking for something to do, the itch for a new adventure always pushing you to try new things. It’s why you became a freelancer after college—it allowed you the mobility to travel to new cities or seek new experiences on your own time. 

Your ex-boyfriend had been just the same as you. A free-spirited artist who would whisk you away to different cities on a moment's notice so you could visit museums or fuck on the top of a hill overlooking the sunrise. It had been great until you’d come back to your shared apartment last week to learn he “actually never really cared for you” and that you needed to move out immediately so that his “soulmate” could move in. Talk about a kick in the pants. 

You shrug. “It’ll probably take some getting used to.” 

At least Nao’s apartment is nice and close to the mountains, so if you want to go for a walk or a hike, that’s a possibility. She has an extra room and you spend the rest of the morning setting up your limited belongings. You had to leave half your stuff behind since you didn’t have the room for it, and you know for sure your ex threw it out as soon as you left even though you asked him to ship it.  _ Ass _ . 

Nao orders noodles for the two of you and you chat over lunch when your phone dings. 

_ Ittetsu Takeda _ [12:31] Good afternoon! Sorry for the late message. The takoyaki was very delicious. Also, I’m sorry, I don’t think I ever got your name? 

“No way,” you laugh. It had been a real number after all. 

Nao raises an eyebrow at you so you spend the next few minutes telling her all about the man you had conned into buying you takoyaki. As you explain, you shoot Takeda another message with your name, then asking him if he made it back home okay. That’s when he tells you he was on a trip with his high school class and had wandered out after hours for a treat. You vaguely remember him saying he’s not from Sendai now that you’re reminded. 

“Karasuno High School. Have you heard of it?” 

“Karasuno? It’s like ten minutes that way,” Nao gestures out the window with her thumb. 

Ten minutes? He’s that close? _No fucking way_. You can’t believe it. 

“What are the chances?” You mumble into your half-eaten noodles. 

“Is Takoyaki Takeda a teacher? That doesn’t seem like your type. Unless he’s an art or music teacher or something.”

“He says he teaches Japanese literature.”

“Ew,” Nao scrunches her nose and makes you both laugh. “Definitely not your type.”

“It’s not like I  _ like _ him or anything.”

Yet you continue to text him all day, his messages a welcome reprieve from your freelancing work and the constant reminder of how you ended up in this little town in the first place. 

*  
  


It’s not rare that your mother calls during the afternoon and today is no exception. She’s a bored housewife going through empty nest syndrome now that your younger brother finally left the house to make it on his own. Still, you wish she wouldn’t bring up marriage _ every time _ she calls because it’s not like her marriage sets the greatest example.

“I’m just asking, honey. You’re at that age now.”

“Thirty is barely old, mom.”

“By the time I was thirty, I’d already had you and your sister.”

_ Yeah, and dad had already cheated on you multiple times. _ You don’t say that out loud because you don’t want to hurt her. 

It’s no secret that your father is a serial cheater, tied down to monogamy thanks to his parents’ wishes rather than love or want of a family. Your mother had been a career woman, a junior lawyer about to make it big, when she had been forced into the housewife role thanks to your birth. Your childhood had been full of fights, tears, and the realization that you  _ never  _ wanted to get married if that’s what it meant for your future.

“Where is dad anyway?”

“He’s out.”

_ Figures _ . 

“You’ll have more luck asking one of the others,” you shrug. “Anyway, there’s an art exhibition coming to a nearby town if you can believe it.”

You distract her with stories of living in the small town though there’s not much going on. Anything is better than listening to her grill you about marriage and babies for the umpteenth time. When you hang up, your mood is soured and you throw your phone on your desk, rubbing your eyes. It’s no secret that you don’t want to get married, but that doesn’t stop your mom from constantly pressing. It’s even worse now that she’s alone at home.

You hear Nao come back from work and wander out of your room to greet her. She raises an eyebrow at you, shrugging out of her work vest and hanging it on the hook by the front door.

“It’s almost 5PM and you’re still wearing pajamas?”

“It’s the bum life for me,” you joke.

“When’s the last time you left the house?”

“I went for a walk yesterday if you’re so worried. And tonight maybe. Do you wanna get a drink?”

“Can’t, sorry,” she responds, flopping down on the couch. “I have a date with Ayami tonight.” Then she sends you a sharp look that you understand immediately.

“Okay, okay, I’ll leave the apartment so you can fuck your girlfriend in peace.” You raise your hands in defense. 

She laughs loudly and thanks you before disappearing into the bathroom to get ready.

Now you’re stuck. You don’t have any other friends in the town, not that you have really been trying. You’ve holed yourself up in your room for a few weeks now, waves of sadness over your predicament rooting you to your bed. The thought of a new adventure doesn’t even move you right now, and now you’re sexiled for who knows how long. 

Maybe you can ask Takeda. He’s the only other person you know, you owe him some food, and you’ve been messaging a lot so it wouldn’t be a random invite. He’s usually decently busy though, between teaching and coaching the boy’s volleyball team. Still, if you’re going to be out anyway, it won’t hurt, right?

_ You  _ [16:59]: It’s Friday! Do you have any plans after practice? If you don’t, want to meet me for a drink? 

He doesn’t answer for a solid few hours so you take a shower, put on some actual clothes, and head out of the apartment with no real plans in sight. You venture into the little town and wander around a few stores, stopping in the bookstore to check out the latest releases. You skip the romance section and go for a memoir instead, sure the biography of a chef won’t include any romance that’ll make you feel worse. You take a seat at the little cafe attached to the book shop and start reading. You’re a few chapters in when your phone rings with Takeda’s phone call.

“Hello? Takeda-san?” You’re a bit confused because he’s never called you before.

“Hi! Um, hello. I couldn’t answer because I was at practice but we’re finished now,” he tells you. You check the clock on the wall: 7:42. When had it gotten so late? “Is your offer still on the table…?”

“It is! I’m at the bookstore right now but I can meet you wherever.”

He tells you about a little hole-in-the-wall place that’s his favorite spot for drinks and you finish up your chapter before wandering over to the address he sent. You arrive first so you wait outside for him, rocking on your feet as you watch people walk by. There’s laughs and smiles all around you and it suddenly hits you how lonely you are. Sure you have Nao and friends still back in Tokyo and Sendai, but your penchant for ruining romantic relationships is well-documented. Once things start getting serious, something in your gut tells you to end it and run, because you don’t want to end up miserable and alone like your mother. It’s been fine until now, avoidable while you’re traveling all over Japan, but between her phone call earlier and the awkwardness of waiting around for Takeda, it hits you like a freight train and makes you want to bolt home.

An old yellow car pulls up on the street in front of you and Takeda jumps out, bowing and saying thanks to the guy behind the wheel. The driver lingers for a moment (in what you assume is curiosity to who Takeda is meeting) then pulls off with a wave. 

“Sorry, did you wait long?”

Seeing Takeda again, this time extremely sober, is strange. It wasn’t just the beer goggles talking. He’s cute in a dorky kind of way, his large smile is warm, and his volleyball sweats on top of his shirt and tie are a contrast to the lankiness of his body. His aura is inviting and it makes the tension in your shoulders drop.

“No, I just got here,” you lie easily. “I wasn’t sure if it was the place so I waited outside.”

It’s definitely the place because the owner greets Takeda warmly and says something decently ominous.  _ Good thing he has someone to take him home tonight! _ Takeda laughs it off but you get a full understanding about four drinks in, when the flush on Takeda’s face is undeniable.

He starts talking about the volleyball team and you listen to him with a fist holding up your cheek. The guy is absolutely passionate about his students to a degree that it’s hard for you to understand. His eyes practically sparkle when he talks about how his old students are professional players, how he thinks a few in this batch can make it pro too, how he knows little about volleyball but he knows talent, and these kids have it in spades.

“You're the best, you know?” He eventually ends with. 

You blink at him a few times in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Usually someone tells me to shut up by now, but you’ve listened the entire time!”

“You’re really passionate. I wish I liked something as much as you like your students.”

“Not just my students,” he says then immediately calls for another beer, conveniently ignoring your pointed stare. 

The night ends when Takeda nearly falls out of his chair and you have to help him up with an arm slung over your shoulder. For a skinny guy, he’s kind of heavy as you help him walk the way he says his home is. When you reach his little apartment, it’s nearly midnight, but you haven’t had a message from Nao letting you know it’s okay to come home. You’re stuck between a rock and a very drunk man on your arm. 

“Alright, in you go,” you tell him as you help him unlock his front door and get inside. 

He nearly falls off the couch when he tries to flop on it, so you help him up with a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorryyy.” He laments as he leans back. His face is completely red by now. “I drank too much because I got nervous!”

“Nervous?” You lift an eyebrow. 

“I’ve been wanting to ask you on a date but  _ you  _ asked  _ me  _ first and now I have a very pretty girl in my apartment! It’s unbelievable.”

“Takeda-san,” you laugh as you try to contain his overzealous arm waves. You conveniently ignore the word  _ date _ . “You need to wash up.”

“ _ Ittetsu _ ,” he smiles large enough that his eyes disappear. “I want you to call me Ittetsu because that means we’re close and I want to be close to you.”

“Okay  _ Tetsu _ , that’s enough, it’s time for bed.”

Handling him is about the same as when you had to handle Nao’s drunken antics during college, so helping him comes easy. You walk him to the bathroom and help him dry his face when he’s done washing. You grab him a glass of water and some medicine as he changes into his night clothes and you make sure he takes it before he lays down. You’re about to leave the room when he grabs your hand and tugs on it.

“You should stay,” he mumbles, one bleary eye on you.

“I shouldn’t. You’re not going to remember any of this,” you shake your head as you drop to your knees to look at him more closely. He looks surprisingly relaxed compared to his usual tight but happy expression.

“Yes I am,” he insists, holding onto your hand tighter. “And in the morning, before you go, I’m going to kiss you goodbye and make you promise to go out with me again. That’s what Ukai-kun told me to do anyway.”

You can’t help but laugh. You don’t know who Ukai is but you have an inkling it’s the driver of the car that dropped him off. 

Takeda doesn’t answer again; he’s soundly asleep now, drooling on his pillow. You take his glasses off for him and set them on his nightstand, then crouch by the side of his bed, hugging your knees. He’s an interesting character, this guy. You had always gone for the romantic types, like artists or musicians or poets, finding yourself attracted to the beautiful words of love they could create and spin for you. But that’s all they were—words. When it came down to it, they weren’t the truth and you moved onto the next person, hoping to fill a place in your heart with someone else.

Takeda is different. He has a passion for teaching and his students that isn’t easily found elsewhere. He is overly kind and cheerful, and his advice is practical. What would your mom say? _Perfect marriage material_. That makes you shudder. 

No new messages from Nao. Now what? It’s long after midnight now and you don’t exactly feel safe walking home by yourself. The other half of Takeda’s bed lays there empty, calling to you. Would it really be okay to sleep next to him? He had asked you to stay after all, but did he mean on the couch or by his side? 

You crawl into bed before you can think about it more, staring up at the ceiling. The word  _ date _ floats around in your head like a feather in the wind. A side glance to Takeda’s messy bedhead makes your lips quirk up. You guess if it’s him, a date isn’t so bad.

*  
  


A loud thud wakes you up early the next morning. You spring up from the bed to find Takeda on the floor, staring wide-eyed at you with the blanket clutched in his hands.

“Uh, good morning?” You offer lamely. 

“G-good morning!” He squeaks. 

You pat down your hair, rub your tired eyes, and mumble about making coffee as you leave the room. You don’t even know if he has a coffee maker or a kettle but it’s better than staying in his room with the way he’s staring at you like you’re an alien.

Luckily he does have a coffee machine and you make two cups before he wanders out in different clothes, looking freshly washed. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Apologetic,” he awkwardly smiles as he sits down at his dining room table. “I’m sorry! Did I say anything strange last night?”

You think back to how he promised to kiss you, asked you to say, said he wants to go out again. You aren’t sure you want him to remember that yet so you shake your head. “No, and you’re surprisingly easy to convince to do things while drunk.”

“I’m not sure if you’re giving me a compliment or not.” He rustles with his hair that still somehow looks messy even though he brushed it. 

“It’s a compliment, trust me. I’ve had worse.”

You sit down and make small talk over your coffees, and not once does he ask you about last night. He listens to you ramble about university and your friendship with Nao and your freelancing jobs, always chiming in with a question that makes you talk more about yourself.  _ Yeah, this guy is definitely a teacher.  _

When your coffees are finished, you stand and stretch out your tired body. 

“Thank you for letting me stay the night but I should probably get back.”

“Oh, um, do you want me to walk you back?”

“Nah, it’s okay. I’ll be alright.”

He follows you to the door like a puppy, watching as you slip one of your shoes on. Before you can slip the second on, he grabs hold of your elbow and tugs you closer to him. You lose your balance and fall into his chest with a yelp. 

When you look up, he suddenly kisses you. You don’t think he was expecting you to look up because your teeth clack together and make you both pull back with a wince.

“S-sorry! I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine but…” you can’t help but laugh about the ridiculous situation. “You call that a kiss?”

“Yes. Well, no. Maybe? I didn’t mean—”

You shut him up with a kiss of your own. His lips are chapped but warm, and his hand that hasn’t let go of your elbow tightens. He smells like a mix of coffee and beer and you idly wonder if he’ll taste the same too. When you pull back, his cheeks are dark pink and his eyes are wide underneath his glasses. 

“Yesterday was a date, right?” He suddenly asks. “Please tell me it was because Ukai-kun told me it was.”

Your lips quirk up. He had said the same thing last night. “I didn’t think it was, but it can be if you want.”

“I do,” he nods enthusiastically. “And I’d like to take you out again.”

“Sure,” you shrug. What else do you have to lose? It’s not like your ex is going to come down and interrupt your new budding romance (and if he does, you’ll kick his ass.) “One condition though.” 

“What is it?”

“You have to kiss me again right now.”

He hesitates for a moment before he leans in and presses his lips to yours again. You lean up into him and tighten your fist in his shirt, pressing into his warmth. His smooth hands move to cup your face as he pulls you closer, and you feel the faintest swipe of his tongue against your bottom lip.

You part your lips for him, and his tongue flicking over yours makes you sigh into his mouth. You can tell he’s hesitant, but as soon as you wrap your arms around his waist, he loses a bit of his control. He presses you against the wall as he explores your mouth, bodies pressed tightly together. You moan when he shifts his hips and you feel the growing bulge in his pants. You grind against his thigh, fingers digging into his hips to hold him closer.

He lifts up the back of your shirt, smooth fingers caressing your back as he pulls back and dives back in. They light a fire as they trail up to the band of your bra and lightly trail along your rib cage. He’s so close to where you want him to be, and you push against him to let him know how much you want him to touch you already. 

It isn’t the need for breath that breaks you apart, but the constant vibration from your pocket.

“Fuck, sorry,” you mumble when you pull back, already missing the feeling of his lips against yours. “Phone call.”

He takes a step back to give you space, pushing his glasses further up his nose as he catches his breath. 

“Where the hell are you?!” Nao yells into the phone as soon as you answer. 

“I’m with Tet—Takeda-san. I’m coming home now.”

“You asshole, don’t scare us like that and learn how to answer your messages.”  _ Us _ means Ayami is still over. “And tell Takoyaki Takeda I said hi.”

You sigh as you hang up the phone and see that she’s messaged you seven times over the last fifteen minutes. You were too caught up in Takeda to notice.

“Nao says hi,” you grumble as you pocket your phone again. You don’t want to go back, the fire that ignited from his kisses and touches still lingering in your stomach and wet core, but you don’t want to upset your friend anymore. “I should get going then.”

“Sure, sure, no problem. Um, about the date…”

“Any time you’re free,” you respond as you kiss him one last time. “Tell me and I’ll be there.”

*  
  


Your brain is working against you again. Summer has come and gone and it’s been three months since you and Takeda made it official. Which means this is about the time your mind tells you  _ it’s time to go.  _ You’re sure you’ve overstayed your welcome with Nao (though she's never said so) and you still haven’t looked for a concrete job that will keep you tethered here. 

Your relationship with Takeda is wonderful. He’s understanding, generous, a good listener, a quick learner. You fit together like two parts of a whole, and that’s the problem. Your brain is screaming that it’s too good to be true. This is about the time your previous relationships all took a turn for the worse and you left to find a new adventure. But with Takeda… you aren’t sure you  _ want _ to find a new adventure and that makes you downright terrified. 

A call from your mother brings you out of your brooding. 

“Your brother and sister will be visiting in two weeks, can you make it back then? I’d like to have a family dinner.” She requests after initial greetings. 

_ Family dinner _ . That’s usually code for some kind of ambush. It’s not that you don’t like your siblings, it’s just that you’re all way too independent for your own good and can live with messages once every couple of days. 

“Yeah, I should be able to make it.”

“You can bring someone if you’d like.”

You think of Takeda and his warm smile immediately. Would he want to meet your dysfunctional family? Is it too early for that? You freeze after the initial thought. Why are you even considering it this early? You've never done that for any previous boyfriend. 

“I’ll… ask.”

Your mother doesn’t ask about it, thank  _ God _ , but the question lingers on your mind for the next few hours, making it difficult to concentrate on your work. 

At just after six, your phone lights up with a message from Takeda.

_ Ittetsu Takeda _ [18:07]: I got invited out for dinner by two of my co-workers. Do you want to join us? I’d love for you to meet them. 

Meeting friends. Meeting family. It’s the logical next step in your relationship but it feels like someone dumped a bucket of cold water all over you. You know this isn’t a normal reaction but you can’t force the feeling away. 

_ You _ [18:10]: Sounds good! Should I dress up? Is it fancy? 

_ Ittetsu Takeda _ [18:11]: Normal clothes are fine. You’re pretty either way, baby! 

Your heart thumps at the ease of his compliment and you decide to dress up anyway, just so he has reason to show you off to his friends. 

*  
  
  
Dinner is with two teachers at his school and it’s uncomfortable. Not because they aren’t welcoming—it’s actually quite the opposite. They are extremely nice and you can see why Takeda is friends with them. The pair are married lovebirds, fawning over each other, feeding each other, leaning into each other’s touches. 

“How long have you been married?” You venture, assuming it’s only been a few weeks. It’s the honeymoon phase after all and things will go sour, just like they have for you and your mother.

“Six years next month!” 

The woman smiles brightly. The way she looks at her husband is full of such love and light, and you don’t know how it’s possible. She even asks questions about “when the two of you will get married” (that Takeda expertly shrugs off), saying that marriage is the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

The only example of marriage you know is your parents and they are miserable together. But looking at Takeda’s co-workers, it’s completely different. They’re still in love, still acting like happy teenagers even in their 30s. That old “ball and chain” stereotype your father  _ still  _ complains about is nowhere to be found here. It takes your words away. 

Takeda notices immediately though you try to hide it. His hand hasn’t left yours all throughout dinner and as he walks you back to your apartment. When you linger outside for a moment, he tugs you into a warm hug. 

“Whatever is upsetting you, you can tell me,” he murmurs into your hair. “Was it the questions about marriage?”

“Maybe,” you mutter back, digging your nose into his shoulder. “I didn’t know marriage could be so… happy?”

He laughs, a deep rumbling that permeates your skin and makes you warm. “I'm sure marriage won’t always be  _ that _ happy but I think if you find the right person for you, it can be.” He hums into your hair, rocking you back and forth. “No one is perfect so there will be fights and hardships of course, but if you both work hard to be understanding, love and happiness will follow.”

It’s so optimistic that it brings tears to your eyes. Your brain is a mess, jumbled with the version of love you grew up seeing and the idealistic version Takeda is offering you. The two of them together don’t make sense. Which one is the truth?

“Have you found the right person?” You whisper into his neck.

You feel his body stiffen and something in the air changes. It’s electrified with nervous energy. You barely hear his returned whisper of, “Maybe.”

Your heart is in a frenzy, your hands tightening in his dress shirt. You’d vowed to never get married because you know it would end in disaster, but here he is, offering it to you on a silver platter. And the worst part is,  _ you’re considering it _ . You want what his friends have, you want that stability, that happiness, that love. You want to share it with him while also leaving him to let him find someone who isn’t as wishy-washy as you. It’s too much at once.

“I’m going to meet my family in two weeks,” you tell him as you pull back, trying to make your smile seem reassuring. Maybe you’ll find your answer if he can join. “Do you… want to go with me?”

His face falls slightly. “I’d love to but I’ll be gone for a week for a volleyball camp.”

“Oh, I forgot.”

“Next time,” he promises. “I’ll introduce myself next time.”

You know he means to calm you down, but it does anything but. 

*  
  


Coming back home is always a struggle for you. Your mother welcomes you for the next few days with open arms, excitedly chattering about how she prepared your room and your favorite foods because she missed you so much. You missed her too but being here is too difficult. As soon as you lay down in your old bed, you clearly remember the fights your parents used to have when they thought you were asleep. The loud tears and wails from your mother when she thought you weren’t listening. The fake smiles as she prepared dinner, your father nowhere to be found.

It’s the same even now. You’ve only seen your dad once before he jetted off to work, leaving you, your siblings, and your mother alone in the spacious apartment. The first night had been fine, filled with idle chit-chat about current happenings, but it’s the second night when things go wrong.

“Who is the person you talk to on the phone late at night?” Your sister asks during dinner with a sly grin on her face. 

You freeze with your chopsticks halfway in your mouth. You hadn’t told your family about Takeda, unsure you wanted to open  _ that  _ can of worms, but now everyone is staring at you expectantly.

“My boyfriend,” you respond slowly, not looking up from your plate. You know he’s busy with his volleyball camp and still has a few days left out of town, but you wish he was here to hold your hand and give you the encouragement you desperately need. “His name is Ittetsu Takeda. He’s a high school teacher.”

“Oh darling, that’s wonderful!” Your mom gasps. You eye her wearily. “I’ve always been worried about you but a teacher is respectable.”

There’s that word.  _ Respectable _ . Meaning marriage material, meaning she expects wedding bells in the future. Unlike your other boyfriends, Takeda is “good enough.”

“We’ve only been dating a few months, I’m not thinking of marriage yet,” you lie, trying to hide your shaking by clutching your chopsticks even tighter.

“Yet?” Your brother cocks an eyebrow. “No way did I hear you just say that.”

You kick at him under the table. “Shut up.”

“Your father and I only dated a few months before we got married.”

“Yeah, and look where that got you, mom.”

The room goes deathly silent at your outburst and you take a deep breath. You don’t want to snap, but years of containing your feelings are bubbling to the service, your patience about to break.

“I don’t know what you mean, your father and I—”

Patience, gone. 

“Are in a loveless marriage that’s only for show! Can you even call it a marriage? When’s the last time he was home? When’s the last time he kissed you or held you or told you he loves you?”

“Hey—” Your sister begins, but you’re too riled up now. 

“More than that, he can’t even be a  _ father _ . We haven’t been able to get together in  _ who knows _ how long and he can’t even come home to see us now?! What’s the point of marriage if you’re alone the entire time?”

“That’s enough,” your mother cuts you off firmly. “You have no business talking about things you don’t understand. I love your father dearly and he loves you three.”

You notice she doesn’t say  _ he loves me too _ .

“But I  _ do  _ understand because you showed us quite clearly what marriage is. Why don’t you just divorce already? If this is what marriage means, I don’t want it!”

Hot, angry tears pour out of your eyes as you stomp to your old bedroom and grab your belongings. You don’t know where you’re going but you know that you don’t want to be  _ here  _ anymore. Your family shouts at you as you make your way to the front door, but you don’t respond and you don’t say goodbye as you slam the door behind you. It’s a quiet night that seems loud thanks to your heart in your ears and your thudding footsteps. 

You make it to the end of the street before you collapse in a mess of tears, years of mixed emotions flooding out of your system. There’s no messages or calls from your family and even worse, none from Takeda either. You open his message, fingers ghosting over the keyboard as you think about it. 

He is such a wonderful person, too good for someone like you who can’t make up their mind. He deserves someone who can promise forever and mean it wholeheartedly, without the worries of heartbreak and misery that plague your mind. A settling realization hits you as you lean against a light post, staring at your phone.  _ You love him _ . It’s only been a few months, probably much too early to say such things, but you know it deep down. Being with him makes you safe, loved,  _ home _ . 

That’s why you’ll let him go. 

_ You  _ [19:39]: Tetsu, we need to talk.

_ You  _ [19:39]: I think we should break up.

The phone call is immediate. You stare down at his name as you let it ring three times before you finally answer. You don’t say anything at first, your throat closing with your nervousness, so he speaks for the both of you.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

You say you want to break up and the first thing he worries about is  _ you _ . It makes you burst into tears again. He’s frantic on the other end, asking if he should come get you, asking if you’re really okay, asking you to talk to him and tell him what’s going on. 

“It’s— My family is—” You aren’t making much sense through your labored breaths and tears. “You’re so good to me and you deserve someone who can be good to you too.”

“But you  _ are  _ good to me, baby,” he stresses. You hear him choke up a little bit and it makes you cry harder. “Did something happen with your family? Why are you saying this so suddenly?”

“I just… I need space, Tetsu, please. We’re moving so fast.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line for a moment before he releases a breath. “Okay.”  _ Okay _ ? “I’ll give you time until the volleyball camp is over. We can talk about it when I get back. Whatever is on your mind, you need to work through it.”

“Tetsu—”

He goes on like you haven’t spoken. “You’re the only one who can figure it out. Think about what  _ you  _ want. Not what I want or what your family wants. If it’s not me—” There’s a crack in his voice that makes your heart break even more. You know he’s crying on the other end. “If it’s not me, then I won’t fight it, but if it is, then I won’t let you go.”

You aren’t sure what else to say so you mumble a  _ thank you _ before you hang up.

You stare at your dark phone for what seems like forever, your mind as muddled as the clouded night sky.

*  
  


“You’re running away from your problems again.”

Nao’s voice from the doorway makes you pop your head out of your blanket cocoon. Once you had made it back home, you’d shut yourself inside, not wanting to talk about what happened. Takeda is due back in town tomorrow and he’s been true to his word, giving you space and not messaging you since your phone call. For two days, you had been staring at your messages, waiting for him to break and message first, but he hasn’t. 

Your mom has though. After ignoring her calls, she had sent you a long message, apologizing for your fight. The line that stuck out most was:  _ I always want you to find happiness since I couldn’t find it myself _ . Your heart breaks for her, for the both of you. You’ve been blaming her for so long that you haven’t taken responsibility for your own actions and hadn’t thought about how she felt at all. You sent a message back thanking her and apologizing yourself, but things will probably be messy for a while. 

“I know that,” you sigh. If there’s someone who knows you and your family, it’s the girl standing in front of you.

“Can I come in?”

You nod and she takes a seat next to you, pulling you against her shoulder. “Man, I must love you a lot because you smell.”

“A shower is on my list of things to do,” you quip softly, tightening the blanket around your shoulders. 

“What else is on your list?”

“Finding a job.”

Nao looks down at you curiously but she doesn’t press you further. Her smile is genuine when she tells you, “I think the bookstore you like is hiring.”

You nod and gather your thoughts for a moment before whispering, “Nao, I’m scared.”

“I think we all are. Love is a scary thing,” she commiserates. “The good thing is that we’re not our parents. We can learn from their mistakes and do better.”

“Do you think he’ll forgive me?”

“Takoyaki Takeda? If you don’t see that he’s head over heels for you, I don’t know what to tell you.”

The thought makes you smile. The feeling is certainly mutual. 

“Okay now get out of this room and go find a job, stinky. Hopefully  _ after  _ a shower.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you grumble jokingly, determination running through your veins. You’re going to use the last day you have to make things right. 

*  
  


You and Takeda had only shared one message the entire day. He told you he was on the way back and due to arrive at Karasuno High School around 5PM. That was enough time to apply to the bookstore, get the job after a short interview with the owner you already know, and walk home just before lunch. 

You’d planned to meet him at his apartment for dinner and a long talk, but around 4, you just couldn’t  _ wait  _ anymore. Nervousness is thrumming through your veins, along with a lot of coffee since you could barely fall asleep last night. So you put on your cutest dress, do up your hair, and walk to Karasuno just after 4:30. You stand outside the school gates, practicing over and over what you want to say to your boyfriend once he shows up.

Just after 5, a bus rolls up to the school gates and parks a bit in front of you. A band of high school students floods out, stretching and laughing together as they open the hatches of the bus to grab their belongings. A few of them eye you, point your way, and whisper to one another but you ignore them.

A taller man in an orange hoodie with his hair pulled back in a headband steps off the bus next. You can guess this is “Ukai-kun” by the way he catches your eye and turns back with a sharp, “ _ Sensei _ ! Come out here.”

“What is it now?” Your boyfriend’s exasperated sigh comes before he steps off the bus.

He freezes once he sees you. He looks tired, the bags under his eyes more prominent, and he pushes his glasses up after blinking a few times. 

“Ukai-kun, can you take the students inside?” He asks of the assistant coach, his eyes not leaving you.

“Coach Takeda, who is that?” one of the students asks.

Another questions, “Is that your girlfriend?”

A third chimes in, “Coach has a girlfriend?! No way!”

“Okay you rascals, get inside now!” Ukai barks, shooing them along. 

The students disappear, the bus rolls off, and it’s just you and Takeda now, standing in front of each other with a chilly silence. You brace yourself with a deep breath and walk up to him, hands clasped in front of you.

“What are you doing here, baby?” He murmurs. You’re still ‘ _ baby’  _ and not your name. That’s a good sign. 

“I couldn’t wait longer,” you tell him and reach out to grab his hand. He lets you thread your fingers together and squeeze. “Tetsu, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kept you waiting.”

“It’s okay—”

“It’s  _ not  _ okay. I should have told you what I was thinking so we could work through it together but instead I pushed you away. I’m so sorry. My parents… they...”

“You don’t have to tell me if you aren’t ready.”

A gentle hand runs down your hair and tears spring to your eyes. How could you think about giving this man up? He’s so understanding and patient with you, even when you don’t deserve it.

“No, I’m ready,” you squeeze his hand again and tell him. “My parents have an awful marriage and I thought that’s what marriage was. I was always running away from people who cared about me because I never wanted to repeat that. But I don’t want to run anymore because…” You swallow. “Because I love you.”

His face grows dark red at your confession, his hand pausing in your hair. “Really?”

“Really. I thought about it like you told me to. I want to stay here. I want to be with you. I want a future with you.”

Takeda wipes a tear from your cheek, ignoring his own tears that are cascading down his face, and  _ finally  _ pulls you close, wrapping his arms tightly around you. You dig your face into his shoulder, relishing in the feeling of him pressed against you. 

“I can’t promise it will be perfect. We’ll fight and struggle sometimes too because that’s what life is. But I can promise that I will love you then like I love you now, and I’ll always be understanding of your needs and wants. I hope that’s enough.”

His words make a fresh round of tears fall from your eyes and you pull back, wiping them with the back of your hand. 

“Did you watch a romance movie on the way down or something?” You try to joke through your hiccups.

“Well no, but I’ve, um, been thinking a lot the last two days too,” he wipes at his eyes just like you do to try and stop his own tears. “And… and I’m sorry but I lied. I had no intention of letting you go. I’m, um, I’m actually really stubborn and I love you too, so, uh, sorry again—”

You don’t let him finish. You bring his face between your hands and press your lips against his, cutting him off. He practically melts against you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he kisses you back. You can feel the promise in his embrace, the way he cradles you close and doesn’t let go. You’re his and he’s yours. 

You hear hollering from behind you and see a few of his volleyball students’ faces in the open window of the gymnasium, staring at you both blatantly. You both pull away from each other as Ukai yells at them to knock it off. It makes you laugh and hide your face in your hands. 

“Will you wait here for me, baby?” Takeda asks with a smile bright enough to combat the sun. “I’ll send the students away, then we can go home.”

_ Home _ . Nothing sounds better than that.

*  
  


Takeda repeats those same words to you as you both stand before the officiant, and they make you cry, just like the previous time. Only this time, you know that it’s a promise of forever, sealed with the ring he slides onto your finger after your vows are finished. The after banquet lasts late into the night, with you and your friends laughing and drinking, and Takeda crying over seeing his old students show up to congratulate him.

You’re tired by the time you make it back to your shared apartment but you aren’t going to let that stop you. You can’t go on your honeymoon just yet, as there’s a big volleyball match next week he needs to be around for, but that doesn’t mean you can’t wear your new black babydoll negligee and surprise him anyway. 

You change in the bathroom under the guise of getting ready for bed, checking yourself out in the mirror. The lace bra ties in the front and sheer fabric runs from the bottom of the cups to the tops of your thighs, showing off the black thong you have on. When you hear him shuffle into the bedroom, you take a deep breath and go to join him. 

You catch him just as he is taking a drink of water and he sputters all over himself when he sees you. He coughs a few times, setting down his cup, his eyes wide and cheeks flaming red.

“B-baby,” he stutters. He looks so cute standing there like a frozen statue. You can see the growing bulge in his plaid boxers quite plainly.

“Aren’t you going to call me Mrs. Takeda?”

Your sneaky grin doesn’t go unnoticed and he laughs, reaching his hand out for you. You don’t take it. You grab his arm and push him down onto the bed, crawling on top of him. He stares at you with wide eyes, glasses slipping down his nose. You lean down to kiss him and he responds eagerly, lips parting as you push your tongue into his mouth. He grabs hold of your shoulders and pushes you down, rolling you both over so he’s on top of you.

This is far from the first time you’ve slept together but something is different about him tonight. He’s hungrier and more dominant in the way his hands run over your curves and squeeze at your thighs. He pulls his mouth away from yours and begins to nip down your neck, leaving a small trail of pink marks until he reaches your shoulder. His fingers play with the strap of your bra as he sucks and bites at your skin, making you mewl and squirm beneath him. 

“You’re so sexy, you know that?” He whispers against your skin, hands on your hips bringing you flush against him. “So sexy and mine forever.” He grinds against your core with his half-hard length and you moan, throwing your head back against your comforter. Forget the lingerie, you want him inside you  _ now _ .

“Tetsu, please,” you whine for him, tugging on his undershirt. He takes the hint, throwing it off to the side, sitting up on his knees so you can see him better. He drinks you in—your flushed cheeks, your bra strap hanging off a shoulder, your parted legs for him—before he moves underneath the flimsy fabric and tugs off your thong.

He climbs off the bed and sits down on his knees on the bedroom floor, hooking his arms around your thighs and dragging you to the edge of the bed.

“Need to taste you,” he mutters and sets his mouth on you. The first flick of his tongue along your folds has you whining, the second has you tangling your hands in his hair and tugging. He groans into your core when he sees how wet you already are, and he wastes no time pulling your folds apart and diving in, tongue quickly moving in and out of you. 

His hands keep you tightly in place as he fucks you with his tongue, and you can’t stop your body from jerking the moment his thumb touches your clit. You rock your hips against his face and he must like that, because he’s moaning again, fingers digging into your thighs. Usually he builds you up slowly but tonight he’s relentless, thumb making quick circles around your clit and sending jolts throughout your body. 

Then he replaces his thumb with his tongue and you see stars. There’s a thin sheet of sweat on your flushed body, your legs quivering underneath his tight grip. He pushes one finger into you and you can hear how wet you are when he starts to thrust his digit in and out of you. Your hips rock to meet him, warmth spreading all over your body, your whimpers becoming louder and unrestrained. 

He pushes a second finger into you, his lips sucking on your clit, and you hit your high, juices flowing all down his fingers. You tug on his hair as your body shakes, eyes closed tight enough to make you see white. You’re still trembling and gasping for breath when he pulls away from you, licking his lips that are shining with your slick.

“I’ll never get tired of hearing you call my name,” he smiles as he crawls back into bed with a shy smile. You’re not sure why he’s so bashful now, not after eating you out like a meal. You didn’t even realize you called his name as you came, too wrapped up in the heat of it. 

You start to pull on the strings of the bow holding your lingerie together and he grabs your hand, shaking his head.

“Can you keep it on?” He asks, pushing up his glasses then shimmying out of his boxers. His cock sits erect against his stomach, already leaking from the tip. An offered hand and you’re pulled on top of him, your wet core dragging over his length and making him sigh. 

“Do you want me to…?” You tilt your head.

“No, I need to fuck you right now.” His cheeks are burning red at his request. He knows you like dirty talk so he’s been trying for you, something you really appreciate.

“Anything for you, Tetsu,” you tease him, lining up your core with his length and sinking down on him. 

His raw dick inside you feels so much better than with your usual condom. It makes your walls clench around him and he groans, hands moving to your ass to dig his fingers into the supple flesh. He’s staring up at you like he can’t believe you’re on top of him like this; his pupils are blown and his mouth hangs open as he bucks into you. You ride him slowly at first, relishing in the way you can feel every bit of him now. His hands wander all over your body as you speed up, hips gyrating like you know he likes.

When he spanks you, you squeal, falling forward to catch yourself on his shoulder. He spanks you again, grabbing hold on your hip to drive his cock deeper into you. You lean down to capture his lips and he swallows every single one of your moans as he hits you just right. You can feel another orgasm building deep in your gut, your toes curling as he continues pounding into you, and a few rubs of your swollen clit send you tumbling over the edge one more time.

“Oh God, I’m—” he chokes out before he’s releasing deep within you. It’s so  _ warm _ , filling up your twitching core and leaking out onto his hips. His eyes are screwed tightly shut, his glasses slightly foggy from how hot the room has gotten. You flop down onto his chest, not letting him pull out of you just yet.

“I love you,” you mumble into his sweaty shoulder. 

“I love you too,” he smiles as he kisses the top of your head. “Give me thirty minutes and I’ll make you say my name again.”

Yeah, marrying him was one of the best decisions you could have possibly made.

*

When you visit your mother again for her birthday the following year, Takeda has Ukai handle practice so he can go with you. You’ve talked as normally as you can but you haven’t seen her since your wedding almost a year ago when things were tense. You stand outside of the apartment complex, one hand tightly holding onto Takeda’s hand, the other on your growing bump. Today’s the day you’re going to tell her about the baby and it makes you want to throw up.

“It’ll be okay, baby,” Takeda smiles and presses a quick kiss to your lips. “I promise. I’ll be by your side the entire time.”

“You better be,” you joke back, stealing another kiss for strength. “Or else I’ll make you walk home.”

“But I’m the one who drove!” He laughs, pulling you tightly against his side. 

Your mother welcomes you with a wide smile and a surprise—your brother and sister sit inside the apartment as well. You didn’t know they were coming but you won’t complain. The last family dinner had been a disaster, so you’re hopeful that this one goes much smoother. 

Idle chatting and dinner go just fine, but when your mother offers a glass of wine after everything has been cleaned up, you decline and take a breath.

“Actually, I can’t drink. Not for the next five months.”

There’s silence around you and then your mom is squealing, giving you the biggest hug as she sheds tears for you. You, your mother, and your sister sit at the dining room table talking about baby things, while Takeda and your brother sit in the living room, watching volleyball highlights and talking about the sport. 

When there’s a lull in conversation, your mother leans over and sets a hand on yours. “Are you happy, honey?”

You look over at your husband. The way he animatedly talks about the pro players he coached. The way his eyes shine as he points out offensive and defensive plays. The way his eyes disappear when he looks over at you and smiles. The way his wedding ring catches the light when he sets a hand on his stomach, mimicking the position you’re in right now. You’re more than happy. Takeda has been the best choice you’ve ever made, the best adventure you’ve embarked on, a decision you’d make time and time again.

“I am.”

You’ve never meant anything more in your life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so far i have ideas for kenma, yamaguchi, kuroo, bokuto, and maybe atsumu, but i'm not sure the next chapter! see you next week anyway :3


	8. She Who Has the Last Laugh (Tetsurou Kuroo/Reader, Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you meet kuroo in a bar and he gives you the dicking down you deserve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> literally it's pwp in this part lol   
> part 2 is a short fluff part to wrap it up   
> fem!reader, 5.7K  
> tw?: baby's first degradation, dirty talk

When your good friend Nozomi had called you earlier to come get a drink, you hadn’t expected to find her sitting at a table with your ex-boyfriend. And you certainly hadn’t expected her to say she’s dating the guy who broke up with you two months ago, not after she had been the one to comfort you through the painful split. 

The beer you had ordered isn’t enough. As soon as they start talking, you know you need something  _ much  _ stronger to make it through this conversation.

“I’m hoping you can give us your blessing,” she finishes, clinging to the arm of the man you once thought was your endgame. If it’s any indication, the promise ring on her left ring finger looks suspiciously like an engagement ring. After not even two months? What the fuck.

You down the rest of your beer, leaning back in your seat. “I don’t know why you’re asking me for anything, let alone a goddamn  _ blessing _ , unless you’re trying to rub it in.”

“I would never!” Nozomi gasps, shaking her head, her big eyes filling with tears. You feel nothing as you blink at her overreaction. “We just didn’t want to keep it a secret anymore.”

“Okay cool, enjoy, have a good life.” You salute as you stand up, dig enough money out of your pocket to pay for your drink, and leave that bullshit behind. 

You wander the streets of Tokyo, ignoring the constant pinging of your phone that you’re sure is from Nozomi.  _ Traitor _ , you think bitterly. How could she be secretly talking to him while consoling your tears over the suddenness of the break? How had they even started talking anyway? You’d been with your boyfriend for over a year, even talked about moving in together and thinking more long term now that you both had good, stable jobs. Then two months ago, he had blindsided you with the breakup, stating that you weren’t what he was looking for. You hadn’t understood then, but you understood clearly now. He wasn’t looking at you, but your good friend with the cutesy vibe and boobs big enough to knock a man out. 

You don’t want to go home. You had dressed up nicely for once, in your best yellow summer dress, because you had expected to spend the night chatting and finally letting loose. After the breakup, you’d kept yourself at home, licking your wounds and trying to move on, and everything was going swimmingly well. You were finally ready to rejoin nighttime society with a smile on your face. Until tonight at least. 

The glowing red sign outside the bar is what gets your attention first. The second is the closeness to the subway station.  _ Good _ , you think as you open the door and shuffle over to a seat at the bartop. You want to get blitz drunk—within the next hour preferably—and then shuffle home to forget what the hell happened a bit ago. 

You aren’t the only one at the bar when you sit down. There’s a guy two seats down from you with spiky black hair, whose red tie is undone and slung over his shoulders, and whose burning eyes land on you as soon as you order a tequila sunrise. He looks like he’s had as shitty of a night as you have. 

You give him a nod, take a sip of your drink when you get it, then take another because damn, is the alcohol making you feel better. You finish in record time, but before you can order a second, the man speaks up.

“Let me buy your next one.”

He’s moved next to you now, long fingers fiddling with his nearly empty glass of what looks like whiskey. You’d always been careful not to accept drinks from strangers, especially alone at a bar like you are tonight. But there’s something about him that makes you inwardly scream  _ fuck yes _ . He is very attractive, especially with that smirk as he considers you. He’s also tall and very well-built, his tan chest peeking out through the two buttons he has undone on his white button-up. It gives you a thrill to know you still got it, even after a long time without flirting like this. 

“To what do I owe the honor?” 

“Looks like you could use another drink as much as I do.”

_ Oof _ . You try to hide whatever is showing on your face with a coy shrug. 

“Who am I to say no to such a handsome gentleman?” You give your best flirtatious smile and then your name. “And what about you?”

“Tetsurou Kuroo.”

He extends his hand out to you and you take it, shaking hands like a business transaction. His touch lingers for more than a normal shake and you aren’t complaining one bit. His hands are warm and calloused from use, his grip strong and somehow promising  _ more  _ with that simple action. He pulls his hand away but not his arm; it’s so close to you that it can touch you if he even moves another inch. 

You make small talk over your new drinks. You learn he works for the Japan Volleyball Association; he learns you work as a makeup artist for a small modeling company. You can tell he still plays volleyball when he rolls up his sleeve and orders a third round for the two of you. The veins in his arm flex when he grabs his new glass and make you shift in your seat. 

“So now that we’re thoroughly introduced,” you lean your elbow on the bartop and cock your head. “Do you want to talk about what’s on your mind?”

“Perceptive, aren’t you?” He grins and sets down his drink. “I’ve been working my ass off for a promotion and it’s most likely going to someone else.”

“Oooh,” you scrunch your nose as you shake your head. “That sucks.”

“What about you?”

“A good friend of mine invited me out then ambushed me to say she’s practically engaged to my ex that I broke up with two months ago.”

He winces and lifts his drink in your direction. “I think you win.”

“It ended up working out anyway. I get to drink with a handsome stranger and she’s stuck with a guy who won’t be able to make her cum.”

You don’t know why it tumbles out of your mouth. You blame the two-and-a-half tequila sunrises currently running through your veins. The alcohol has given you a surge of confidence. Even though your cheeks go slightly pink at your outburst, you don’t take your eyes off his reaction. Something in his face darkens and the smirk on his lips is back. He leans into you, his voice dropping to a deep, whispered rumble.

“So you’re saying he never made you cum?”

He’s so close that you can smell the whiskey on his breath, see the shine in his hazel cat-like eyes. You bite your lip, giving a nod.

“For a whole year.”

“Jesus, kitten.” The nickname slips from his lips so naturally that you have to repress a shiver. “That’s downright pitiful. Looks like you need someone to show you how it’s done.”

“Are you offering?” You raise an eyebrow, smirk matching his. 

He doesn’t answer you. He leans back in his seat, bringing his nearly empty glass up like a toast, then he nods at your half-empty tequila sunrise.

“Finish your drink.”

*

If anyone was to ask you what the love motel room looks like, you wouldn’t be able to answer them. Kuroo had found one close to the bar and led you there, refusing when you tried to pay. On the elevator ride up, you hadn’t even touched once. By the time he had swiped the key and let you into the room first, you were practically shaking with excitement and the budding tension between the two of you. 

You haven’t even slipped off your shoes before he grabs you and forces you against the front door, his lips covering yours. At the bar, you noticed he was a big guy, but that’s nothing compared to how he towers over you now. His body traps yours as he explores your mouth, one of his hands on your neck to keep you in place, the other on your hip to force you close. He slips a thigh between your legs just as his tongue slips into your mouth, and he swallows your groan as he delves deeper.

When he pulls back, there’s a thin string of saliva still connecting you. He starts to say something but you shut him up with another bruising kiss, pulling him close again by the lapels of his shirt. His laugh rumbles deep in his chest and makes your insides clench. You don’t even notice you’re grinding against his leg until he bites down on your lower lip and tugs rough enough to make you gasp.

“Such a naughty girl, aren’t you?” His grin is practically predatory as he begins to nip down the side of your neck. 

He isn’t gentle at all, leaving a trail of soft pink marks as he makes his way to your shoulder. On a particularly hard bite, you groan, tilting your head to give him better access. His hands are helping you now, moving your hips in a slow scissoring motion, making you fuck his thigh. You’re already wet from just this, your pussy throbbing when his hands move under your dress and cup your clothed ass. 

“You gonna get off on my thigh, kitten?” He teases with a smirk, fingers grabbing the elastic on your panties and making it snap against your warm skin. “You like it that much?”

Your cheeks burn from the comment and from the way his eyes stare down at you like you’re his next meal. Like you’re Little Red Riding Hood and he’s the wolf, ready to eat you for supper. It makes you shiver with anticipation. 

He snaps the elastic again with a shake of his head. “Answer me.”

“Not just your thigh.” You nearly whisper it. Your ex was always so vanilla that even just this simple dirty talk is making you breathe heavier. 

He smirks again but doesn’t move. “Any hard limits?”

_ Hard limits _ ? As you think about it, his finger trails up your dress, from your panties to the bottom of your bralette. The roughness of the pads of his fingers makes you shift against the door. He’s so close to your breasts now but he isn’t doing  _ anything _ . You don’t know whether you’re turned on by the teasing or frustrated at the slowness of it all.

“Well?” He asks right near your ear. His teeth nip over your lobe before he takes it into his mouth, sucking on the flesh. His hot breath on your skin makes goosebumps rise on your arms. Your fingers dig into his shirt as you mewl, pressing up into him for more. 

“Just don’t… pee on me or anything and we should be fine.” You manage to get out. It’s  _ very _ unsexy and  _ very _ out of left field but it’s the only thing you can think of. 

The deep rumble of his laughter goes straight to your wet pussy. “Don’t worry about that. Not exactly my cup of tea either.”

With a few tugs, your panties are down at your ankles and he lets you step out of them before he crumples them up in his hand. Then he steps away from you, leaving you confused and breathless against the cold hotel room door. You watch him saunter over to the plush chair next to a table and take a seat, his legs spread wide and his large bulge in his slacks already extremely prominent. He plays with the buttons on his shirt, undoing two more of them while he considers you. 

“Why don’t you get on your knees for me, kitten?”

You push off the door and begin to walk over, but he puts a hand up to stop you. “From there.”

_ From the landing _ ? You slowly sink onto your knees, still much too far away from him to touch. He plays with your panties in his hand, rolling them around like they’re a stress ball, before he unbuttons his shirt the rest of the way and tugs it from his slacks. 

He isn’t wearing an undershirt so you get to see his deliciously tan skin between the folds of his shirt. Your eyes are glued to the firmness of his body, the tight muscle he has from years of consistent volleyball play. You want to run your tongue all over his abs, nip all over his skin to leave bites that prove he is yours for the night. You take a deep breath to calm yourself and sit back on your legs. The fabric of your dress on your thighs makes you shift because every nerve in your body is on fire and he hasn’t even touched you yet. 

He shrugs out of his shirt and throws it over the small table to his left then gives you a nod. “Your turn. Bra off, keep the dress on for now.”

The  _ command  _ in his voice makes you swallow thickly. This is a guy who is used to getting his way, and after a year of taking the lead during sessions with your ex, you’re more than willing to let him have his way with you. You drag down the thin straps of your dress until your bralette is on display then you tug it over your head and set it on the ground next to your knees. You shiver at the way he’s staring at your naked breasts, his fingers running down his exposed chest and playing with his belt.

“Lift your dress for me.” 

Your shaking fingers lift the bottom of your dress, exposing your bare pussy to his eyes. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip as he stares and your mind wanders to where else that tongue could be. It makes your pussy clench as you rock on your legs. 

“What a pretty pussy, kitten. Why don’t you go ahead and play with it?”

It makes you freeze. Touch yourself in front of him? You’ve never done that before and it makes you nervous. He seems to sense your nervousness and gives you a comforting smile that sends your brain into a frenzy. How can one man look so good doing both? He drags down the zipper of his pants and you can see the prominent bump in his black boxers. Kuroo puts a hand over the bulge and hisses when he squeezes. 

_ Oh fuck _ . If he’s going to touch himself, you might as well join. One hand wrapping in your dress to hold it up, you spread your legs a little further so he can get a better look at your cunt. You trail two fingers along your wet folds and sigh, pushing into your own soft touches. He seems to be mimicking you, his hand running over the length of his clothed erection. You dip a finger into yourself to gather your slick, then you pull it out and circle your clit once and gasp. 

“Go on, finger yourself,” he urges. 

His voice sounds like pure honey and it makes you throb. You push a finger into yourself easily with how wet you are and your moan is mixed with his low groan. Your eyes haven’t left his hand, especially not now when he dips it under the waistband of his boxers and palms himself. You push your finger in and out slowly, hips moving to meet your digit, and you mewl when your thumb brushes your clit. But one finger isn’t enough and you push another into yourself, whimpering at the feeling.

“Such a good girl. So obedient,” he muses and tugs his cock out of his boxers for you to see.

It leaves your mouth dry when you finally see it. It’s long and girthy, a vein running up the bottom of it. The tip is swollen and red, and your walls clench around your fingers when you imagine the upcoming  _ burn  _ of his dick pushing into you. It’s going to feel so good as he pounds into you and you speed your fingers up, biting your lip to keep from crying out.

“Do your fingers feel good?” He asks you breathlessly as he begins to slowly stroke his dick. It takes you more than a moment to shake your head, too entranced by how much you want it in your mouth. “No? Then what do you want?”

“Yours,” you respond just as breathlessly. 

“My what?”

“Your fingers.”

He shakes his head, eyes flashing dangerously as he watches you push your coveted fingers in and out of your dripping pussy. “Be more specific and you’ll be rewarded.”

_ God _ , how can one man look so delicious? It’s like he has a spell over you, compelling you to answer. You want nothing more than his fingers or cock inside of you, filling you better and hitting you deeper than your fingers can. 

“Fuck me with your fingers,  _ please _ ,” you beg with a whimper. 

“ _ Fuck _ , you sound so good begging for me,” he groans and stands up, taking a seat on his bed. He sits upright and leans against the headboard behind him, stripping out of his pants and boxers, now completely naked. “Crawl to me, kitten. Show me what a good girl you are.”

Your cheeks are burning with a mix of your embarrassment and arousal, but you don’t hesitate. You crawl slowly to his side, eyes on him the entire time. He looks like an Adonis, his firm and tone body something out of your wildest dreams, his hand lazily stroking his stomach. You obediently sit up on your knees again once you reach the side of the bed. 

“What a perfect pet. Come up here. Let me give you your reward.” 

You try not to look too eager as you climb into bed with him but it must show because he chuckles darkly as you straddle him. His lips are on yours again, kiss even more desperate than the one at the door, and you grind your core against his hard cock for some friction. 

“Not so fast,” he orders against your lips, grabbing your hips firmly and making you stop. You whine in protest and it earns you a sharp smack on your ass. “I’m gonna make you cum three times before we leave this room, but you gotta be patient. You can do that, can’t you?” 

The  _ promise _ in his words makes you shiver and bite your bottom lip. You nod and he shifts you so you’re no longer on top of him, but laying sideways next to him, draped over his firm thigh. The angle gives you a perfect view of his dick and your mouth waters at the sight.

“Can I?” You ask, but you don’t know  _ why _ you’re asking. Color floods your cheeks at the way he smirks down at you—like he’s trained you to  _ really _ be his pet. 

“Since you’ve been so good.”

His left hand tangles in the back of your messy hair and pulls you closer, and you run your tongue over his red tip. The groan he lets out nearly makes you whimper and you scoot closer, enveloping the entire tip into your mouth. Your tongue runs over his slit, lapping up the precum dribbling out, as you suck. 

“Fuck, that’s good,” he praises you. “Go on, you can take more.”

You swirl your tongue around the tip a few more times before you take him into your mouth, letting the tip of his dick hit the back of your throat. He swears under his breath as you pull back and do it again. He’s too big to take the entire length, so you wrap your hand around the base and squeeze as you begin a slow bobbing motion. 

He groans another praise and runs a hand over the globe of your ass before his fingers dip lower. He moves his fingers up and down your slick folds before he pushes a finger inside. You moan around his length and suck harder, hips pushing back to meet him. 

“You like that, kitten?” You can hear the grin in his voice. “You’re practically dripping down my wrist.” To emphasize his point, he pushes another finger into you with no resistance, wiggling to get even deeper. 

You whine around his cock, humping his hand to make him move, but he doesn’t. He tugs on your hair so harshly that you pull off his dick with saliva still running down your chin. 

“Answer me. I want to hear you say it.”

“Fuck, yes, it feels so good,” you beg him. “ _ Please _ fuck me,  _ please _ , I need more.”

Your answer seems to satisfy him and he thrusts his fingers deeper into you, making you cry out. His hand pushes you down to his cock again and you swallow as much as you can, body trembling as you suck him off. He bucks into your mouth as you take him as deep as you can, tears leaking around the corners of your eyes as his dick hits the back of your throat. 

His fingers curl as they speed up, hitting a spot in you that makes your hips jerk toward him. Your body shakes as you suck harder, running your tongue along the underside of his cock. When he brushes a finger against your clit, you moan around his dick and hollow out your cheeks, hand tightening around the bottom of his length. 

His finger speeds up around your clit as he hits you deeper with his fingers. You pull off his length to groan, your hips rocking to meet his thrusts. There’s a tightening in your belly, a warmth that spreads from your stomach to your toes. 

“You gonna cum for me, kitten? You’re clenching around my fingers so hard.”

“Yes,  _ yes _ ,” you chant, eyes flicking up to meet his gaze. He stares down at you without saying anything, but you already know what he wants. “Wanna cum so bad, please, Tetsurou,  _ please _ .” 

He swears under his breath and rubs your clit faster, and it only takes a few more strokes for you to reach your orgasm. Your body shakes violently as it washes over you, a loud cry of his name leaving you as you fall forward into him. You cling to his hips hard enough to leave crescent-shaped nail marks in his hips, continuously whimpering as you come down. 

He pulls his fingers from you and runs them lazily along your swollen folds as he waits for you to stop trembling. He gives you a moment to collect yourself before he slips the dress over your head and flips you over to your back, lips descending on yours. His tongue is messy against yours, saliva dripping from your lips as he grabs your chin and forces you closer. He pulls away just as abruptly as he came and replaces his tongue with his wet fingers. Your hooded eyes are glued to his as you suck on his digits, forcing him still with a hand on his wrist. 

Kuroo makes a sound in his throat and rips his fingers from your mouth, smacking your thigh hard enough to make you gasp. His fingers run up and down your folds as he leans down to take one of your nipples into his mouth. You arch up into his mouth as he licks and sucks, rolling the nipple between his teeth and pulling off. He does the same to the other nipple, his eyes up on your reaction the entire time. You stare down at him, hips pushing into his hand. His light touches aren’t enough; you  _ need  _ him to be inside you again.

“Wanna feel that tight pussy for myself,” he grins as he pulls back. He leans over to grab a condom, then he slips back between your legs. He parts them even further, the stretch burning slightly, and he stares down at your exposed pussy with a hunger that makes you shiver. “Look at you, already dripping from me. Your thighs are covered, kitten. Making such a mess.”

You whimper with embarrassment, covering your mouth with a hand, but he pulls it away with a shake of his head.

“Don’t even think about it. I wanna hear you beg for my cock. Go on, be a good girl.” 

You shift underneath him, practically cooing when he runs the tip of his cock over your swollen folds.

“Fuck me, please,” you whisper, lifting your hips to meet his. “I want your cock in me so bad.”

“Yeah?” He grins as he slides the condom on. Your pussy clenches around nothing as he lines up with your wet hole. He slaps your folds a few times with his dick before he slips inside of you.

Even with how wet you are, it’s a stretch. He slowly rocks his hips in and out of you until he bottoms out. He barely gives you time to adjust before he pulls out and slams back in, making you cry out. 

“Oh my god, you’re so big,” you whine. Your ex had been average, but Kuroo is well above that, filling you up to the brim. 

“You like it, don’t you, kitten?” That devilish smirk is on his face as he sets a slow rhythm, hands grasping your hips to life you and hit you even deeper. 

“Faster, please,” you babble. Your fingers leave the sheets to cling to his arms, nails digging into his upper arms. “Please, Tetsurou.”

“Fuck, I love it when you say my name.”

His growl vibrates through your body as he starts to fuck you relentlessly, his cock hitting deep within you. One of his hands comes up to your breast and he squeezes roughly, rolling a nipple between his fingers as he pounds into you. You throw your head back with a loud moan, hips pushing to meet his thrusts as your legs shake. A shift of his hips and he hits that sweet spot, making you curse and cry out even louder. 

“Look at you, dripping all over the bed,” he grunts out between labored breaths. “Dripping all over my balls like a slut.” The name makes you clench around him even harder and he barks out a laugh. “You like that? Being called a slut?”

“No,” you whine, but your body flushes anyway, toes curling as he pinches your nipple again. 

“You’re so tight around me, kitten, such a good girl. Do you want to cum again?”

You can’t think straight with him hitting so deep every time, so you nod your head a few times, hoping he gets the hint. His hand immediately drops from your nipple and finds your clit again, thumb rubbing quick circles around your swollen nub. You claw at Kuroo’s shoulders as pleasure floods your body, a flood of moans falling from your open lips. A few pinches and rolls and you’re cumming again, pussy clenching around his dick like a vice, your body arching off the bed. All you see is white as you thrash underneath him, senses overloaded with everything Tetsurou Kuroo.

When you open your eyes again, you realize he’s still fucking you, but his thrusts are shallower and slower. 

“You feel so good creaming around my cock, kitten,” he smirks and pulls out of you, forcing you up on your knees. One of his hands digs into the back of your hair, grip tight as he forces you to look back at him. “You look so fucked out. Don’t tell me you’re tired.”

You shake your head as best you can underneath his tight grip, biting your bottom lip. You can feel your juices all down your thighs, your pussy swollen from his relentless fucking, but you want him back inside you  _ now _ . You wiggle your ass at him and he smacks a cheek, the loud slap ringing in the room. He’s back in you in an instant, balls smacking against your ass as he thrusts into you. You’re thankful that the bed muffles your load cries because you can’t stop them, not when the pleasure is so overwhelming. 

His thumb finds your clit again and you shake your head with a whine. Tears spring to your eyes at the overstimulation and you bite one of your fingers with a pleading look back at him.

“I can’t, I can’t—”

“Yes you can,” he promises as his fingers speed up. “Cum for me, I know you can, I know you have a third one in you.”

“No, it’s too sensitive,” you whine, but your hips are already moving against his fingers for more friction.

“Trust me kitten, let go.”

The prodding is gentler this time, a sharp contrast to the way he hits so deep within you. You whimper when he forces your chest down into the bed, his fingers relentless in their pinching and circling. Your third orgasm comes suddenly but is just as intense as the last two, making you twitch as you yell out his name with your sore throat. His thrusts continue as you cum around him, but they’re sloppier, heavier, broken in rhythm.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” you hear him hiss in your blissed out state and suddenly he pulls himself from you. A harsh push and you’re flat on your back again. Kuroo rips the condom from his dick and starts pumping himself with his hand. A few tugs and white ribbons shoot out from the tip, covering your already messy thighs and cunt, splattering all the way up to your chest. He looks so fucking  _ good  _ on top of you like this, covering you with his warm cum like he’s marking his territory. 

He catches his breath as he comes down from his high, his hazel eyes dark and on the cum splattered all over you.

“Wish I could take a picture. You look perfect covered in my cum.”

“Tetsurou,” you whine in embarrassment but make no move to cover yourself. Your entire body is weak and tired, but you still buzz with the after effects of the session. 

“Can you walk? Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

He’s a perfect gentleman as he helps you off the bed, a strong arm around your waist as he leads you to the bathroom. He doesn’t say anything as he runs a warm bath for you, and he slips behind you in the tub so you can bathe together. It’s awkwardly peaceful as you lean back against him and wash yourself. You’re not exactly well-versed in one night stands, but this seems far out of the norm. You don’t question it though, at least not verbally. His strong body behind you feels so good and you know you would come running if he asked to meet you again. 

When you’re both done, you shrug into the bathrobe the hotel provides, running your fingers through your knotted hair. You try not to make it obvious, but your eyes follow Kuroo as he leaves the bathroom and takes a seat on the bed, grabbing his phone. Is he planning on staying? Does that mean you can stay too? You linger in the bathroom for a little bit longer before awkwardly emerging.

“Well, come on,” he smiles, patting the spot next to him. “This seat’s got your name on it.”

“I didn’t take you for a cuddler.” You match his smile as you crawl into bed, laying down next to him. You want to reach out and touch him, run your fingers through his soft hair, but you force your hands next to your sides. You don’t know what is acceptable and what is too far.

“I didn’t take you for the obedient type so I guess we were both surprised tonight.”

“Hey!”

His loud laugh is muffled when he grabs you and pulls you into his embrace. You inhale his scent—a mix of the soap from the bathroom and something spicy from his lingering cologne—and curl yourself deeper into his warmth. 

*

You wake the next morning to quiet chatter and a coldness next to you. You blink a bleary eye open to find Kuroo re-tying his red tie, phone between his ear and his shoulder. A quick check to your phone shows that it’s barely 8 am and you have over twenty messages from Nozomi and two from your ex. You let out a faint groan then cover your mouth when Kuroo shoots you a look. 

You mouth  _ ‘sorry’  _ to him and hurry to get dressed while he talks to who you assume is his boss. Your bralette and dress are easy to find, but your panties… the last you’d seen them, Kuroo had been playing with them…

“Sorry. I have to leave first. Work came up.”

On a Saturday? You turn around to see his sheepish grin and business card extended out to you.  _ Tetsurou Kuroo, Japan Volleyball Association _ sits above his phone number.

“Oh, are we exchanging business cards now?” You joke as you take it from him and move to your purse that was left in the [foyer] after you dropped it last night. You dig around for a business card of your own and walk back over to hand him one. “And what about my panties?”

“You can get those back if you call me.”

He doesn’t give you time to respond. He presses a quick kiss to your lips that lingers for a moment before he pulls away. When he goes to leave, you grab hold of his collar and bring him back down for one more kiss.

“I bet you’ll be calling me first,” you whisper against his lips before letting him go, smoothing out the wrinkles in his dress shirt. “Have a good day at work,  _ Tetsurou _ .” 

His burning eyes and smirk are the last thing you see before he throws his jacket on and leaves the room with one last look to you. As soon as he leaves, you sink back down onto the bed, staring at the business card in your hand. The entire last day has seemed like a dream that you’ll wake up from as soon as you walk out of the hotel room door. You don’t know how this happened or how you got so lucky.

The only thing you know is that you’ll  _ definitely  _ be seeing Tetsurou Kuroo again.   
  



	9. He Who Has the Last Love (Tetsurou Kuroo/Reader, Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kuroo is a busy man, but he still wants your love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's just short, sweet, pure fluff  
> fem!reader, 2.7K

Tetsurou Kuroo is a busy man. With his work with the Japan Volleyball Association and his pressing desire for the promotion that he deserves, he’s always on the phone and always on the move. 

That’s the excuse he tells himself for why he hasn’t messaged you yet. 

It’s been two days since your romp at the motel and Kuroo would be lying if he said he wasn’t still thinking about it. He still has your panties (freshly laundered because he’s not a  _ complete _ pervert) in his nightstand drawer. He can practically still feel the way your pussy clenched around him, hear the way you mewled his name, remember the way you  _ challenged _ him before he left the room with one last glance in your direction. 

He takes another sip of his lukewarm coffee to get his mind off of it. 

It’s not like you’ve messaged him either. No calls, no texts, no voicemails saying “hey, thanks for the good lay.” He’s positive he made a good memory for the both of you, something you’ll want to repeat in the future. So why haven’t you both contacted each other again? 

There’s a sharp knock on his office door and an assistant pops their head in. Kuroo can already tell there’s a problem by the look on their face. 

“What’s the problem?” He asks the poor girl.

“The makeup artist just called. She has to cancel tomorrow’s photoshoot because she caught the flu.” 

Kuroo lets out a heavy breath through his nose. He’s spent  _ weeks _ arranging for this photoshoot, gathering up-and-coming players, checking their schedules, arranging interviews with the largest sports magazine in Japan. He took on the project by himself because he wanted to prove that he deserved a promotion—and all it left him with is a massive headache and his superior taking most of the credit. Oh, and memories of you since this is the project that led to your meeting after all. 

Wait. 

_ You _ . 

He tells the assistant to wait a second and digs in his wallet for your business card. There it is—the golden ticket. Makeup artist for a fashion company, he remembers you saying. He prays to whoever is listening that you’re free tomorrow because he does not want all his hard work to go to waste. 

“Hello?” 

Kuroo has known you for a few hours at the maximum, yet he can tell how smug you must feel. You think you’ve won your unspoken game of cat and mouse.

“Hello, this is Tetsurou Kuroo from Japan Volleyball Association.”

He has to give you credit for how fast your tone changes when you re-introduce yourself in a business manner. 

“What can I help you with, Kuroo-san?”

You sound much better saying his first time, he decides right then and there. 

“I know it’s a long shot but I was wondering if you do freelancing work as well. We have an important photoshoot tomorrow and our makeup artist had to cancel, so we’re a bit desperate.”

“Hold on a moment,” you say and set the phone down. He can hear you talking to someone in the background for a long minute before you come back. “What time tomorrow?”

You talk logistics for a few minutes, cementing out what kind of style the company wants, where and when to meet, what your rates are. When you hang up the phone, relief floods Kuroo’s system, along with something else.  _ Excitement _ . You might have just saved his ass by agreeing to help. 

Seeing you again is also an added bonus. 

*

You look much different in your work attire. Kuroo isn’t sure which he likes more—the pretty little sundress you wore when you both met or your current jean skirt and blouse ensemble. You bow to him and his team, your eyes shining with excitement while you thank them for the opportunity to work together. 

When you introduce yourself to the volleyball players he’s gathered, you’re all confidence. Atsumu Miya’s flirtations earn giggles and a “Don’t make me laugh or your eyeliner is going to look awful!” You even manage to get Tobio Kageyama to crack half a smile when you comment on Koutarou Bokuto’s wacky hair. You even get cheeky with the women’s players, acting like you’re good friends already after knowing them for less than a few hours. 

You approach him when you’re all done, rolling your wrists to stretch them. “I hope you don’t mind that I took a few liberties, Kuroo-san. Some of the players were too tan for the requested style and would have looked half dead.” 

“I trust your judgement,” he nods as he watches the first of the players begin their shoot. “Everything looks great so far and everyone seems to enjoy your work.”

You look up at him with fluttering eyelashes, and he can’t help but think about two nights ago when your eyelashes had fluttered the same way as he pounded into you. Luckily your phone pings and you look away from him so he can pretend to hide his pink cheeks. He’s at  _ work _ . He needs to get it together.

You let out an annoyed huff and slide your phone back into the little clutch purse slung over your shoulder.

“Ex-boyfriend?”

You snort. “Is it that obvious? They haven’t left me alone for the last two days.” Then your eyes are on him again, taking on the same dark look that has enticed him at the bar. “But you have.”

“The same could be said for you.” 

Your lips quirk at his challenge. “You got me there.” You aren’t looking at him anymore, but at Bokuto and Atsumu getting a joint photo taken. “But I’ll admit I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

Kuroo thanks God that you said it so he doesn’t have to admit it first. 

“You aren’t the only one.” Then you look back at him with your pretty eyes and pink lips and he caves. “If you’re not busy after this, do you want to get dinner?”

“As long as there’s dessert.”

*

When Kuroo had said dinner, he hadn’t meant for his cock to be buried deep inside you in the backseat of his car. Or, if he were completely honest with himself, maybe he actually had. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” you moan as you bounce up and down on his dick, eyes rolling into the back of your head as he grabs your hips and thrusts deeper. No matter how deep he hits, it isn’t enough. Your pussy hugs him like a vice, making it hard for him to concentrate on fucking you right, let alone breathing.

“Look at you bouncing on my cock, kitten,” he praises you as he leans forward and takes a nipple into his mouth. You mewl and dig your fingers deeper into his hair to hold him close. He helps you move with a firm hand on your ass, squeezing and massaging as you speed up. 

“Wanna cum, Tetsurou, please.” 

There’s something about the way you whine his name that makes him want to give you the world. It sounds so good, so natural falling from your lips, like his name always belonged on your tongue.

“Gotta give my girl what she wants,” he smirks as he bites your nipple, tugging and rolling it between his tongue. With his other hand, he rubs your clit in firm circles, matching the quick pace in which you ride his dick. 

He can feel your walls clench around him, hear the way your breathing picks up as you moan. There’s nothing he loves more than watching you come undone beneath him, knowing he is the one that makes you this desperate. 

“Come on kitten, cum for me, say my name.” 

“ _ Tetsurou _ .” 

You basically tear his hair out with how hard you tug, your body shaking so violently that he has to hold you up with a hand on your back. You lean into him, lips parting for breath, your cunt clenching him so hard that his head spins. A few more bounces on his cock and he’s spilling into the condom, a rough groan of your name leaving him. 

Your cheeks are flushed, pupils blown with pleasure, a shy grin on your face. Something about the scene makes him lean forward and kiss you. It isn’t desperate or heavy like your previous ones. It’s soft, slow, sensual. Your fingers massage his scalp as you move your lips against his, and it feels so  _ good _ that he goes back for another and another. 

“Let me give you a ride home.” He offers when you finally pull apart. 

You nod, chewing on your lip shyly, and Kuroo tries not to laugh at the juxtaposition of the you five minutes ago and the you now. 

“Do you want to come over…?” You ask so quietly he has to strain to hear it.  _ Come over? _ It makes him freeze slightly. You seem to notice his hesitation. “I thought you might want to shower but it’s okay, you don’t have to.” 

He shouldn't. He has work tomorrow and he’s already ignored a few beeps from his phone while fucking you. And yet… 

“A shower sounds great.” 

*

For one of the first times in his life, Tetsurou Kuroo hates his job. 

After the successful photoshoot and interview, his boss piles more work on his plate, something he honestly always wanted before because it meant more responsibility and the bite of a promotion. But now, after so long, he knows it’s all talk. If anyone’s getting a promotion, it’s his superior, you know, the guy who took the credit for the photoshoot in the first place. The new workload has him traveling all over Japan to scout talent, with the possibility of overseas travel if need be. 

That’s all perfect, if it meant he still had time for you. But he barely has time for himself, let alone another person. 

You still message on and off, but every time you both try to plan a meetup, something comes up and either you are busy and he has to cancel. It’s been six weeks since he’s seen you in person, six weeks since that dinner when he fucked you in the backseat then cuddled up next to you all night, a spark of something floating between you. 

When he finally,  _ finally  _ has a day off thanks to a canceled trip, you’re the first thing on his mind. Only it doesn’t work out in his favor.

_ ‘I’d like to see you too, but I’m currently curled up on my couch with a bottle of aspirin.’ _

He doesn’t need to ask to know what you mean. He contemplates it for an hour or so. Should he come over anyway? He knows where you live and you said you wanted to see him. It doesn’t have to be all about sex, right? Your relationship doesn’t really have any firm boundaries. You’re friends. More than friends? If he’s honest, he wants to see your face. It’ll be nice to see someone familiar on his day off (when why hasn’t he messaged Kenma to hangout instead?) 

Kuroo gets moving before he can think about it some more. He stops in the store to get an assortment of chocolate and one of those microwaveable heating pads. He leaves the store, then goes back in to get a Pocari Sweat. That’s what always helped him when he was on the court. On the way out, he sees a little teddy bear and picks it up anyway without thinking. Then he’s off to your place with a Donki bag and an undeniable flipping in his stomach. 

He knows he’s surprised you by the way your eyes widen when you open the door. You look like a mess, hair pulled into a greasy bun, oversized sweatpants making you look much bigger than you are—and he doesn’t care one bit. You’re still just as cute, even when you scrunch up your nose at him. 

“Why didn’t you text first!”

“I wanted to surprise you. Here,” he hands you the bag with a lopsided smile. Tetsurou Kuroo the hotshot associate has been replaced with Tetsurou Kuroo, the fool in love. “I hope this makes you feel better.”

You peek inside the bag and let out a surprised laugh. “How did you know I like Kit-kats?”

“I might have seen them in your refrigerator when I was over last.”

There’s an awkward beat before you move aside, tilting your head at him, fluttering your eyelashes at him just like he likes. “Since you’re here, do you want to come in?”

That’s how he spends all night cuddled up to your side, sneaking kisses between episodes of trashy TV, eating takeout, and laughing like you both don’t have a care in the world. 

*

“What are we?” You ask him weeks later, pressed up against his bare side as he runs his fingers through your hair. 

That’s a tough question to answer. Things have been hectic at work thanks to the upcoming start of the season but luckily it’s been long hours and not long trips out of Tokyo. He’s spent nights at your apartment, curled up at your side. Nights where you both don’t sleep because he’s too busy making you moan for him, too focused on making you cream on his cock again and again. But there’s also been nights where he falls asleep to your soft breathing, falls asleep curled between your arms as you whisper that you’re proud of him for working so hard. 

He knows what he  _ wants  _ to answer but he doesn’t know if he can give it.

“What do you think we are?”

His voice is soft, like he’s going to break the spell you both have over each other if he speaks too loudly. 

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.” Your soft laugh reverberates deep in his chest. “Do you like me?”

Something in him compels Kuroo to lean down and press a kiss to the top of your head. “I do.”

“I like you too, so why don’t we date?”

It’s so casual. So easily slipped from your lips. 

“Wait,” Kuroo pulls away to look down at you with a fake frown. “ _ I’m _ supposed to be asking  _ you  _ that question.”

“Well, it’s too late, mister. I already asked, so take it or leave it.”

Your smile is bright, teasing, and Kuroo knows there’s nothing he would like more than to see that smile everyday. 

“I work a lot,” he offers lamely. “I’ll probably cancel on you more than a few times.”

“You already have,” you remind him with a tilt of your head.

“You don’t have to say it like that.” His grumbling makes you laugh. You run your hand along his cheek and he leans into it with a grin. “But if that’s okay, then let’s date.”

“Does this mean I can have my underwear back?”

Kuroo throws his head back and cackles, his whole body shaking with his loud laughter. When he calms down, he drops his head and looks back at you. “I suppose I can give it back to you now.”

You nod a few times happily and then lean in to press a chaste kiss on his lips, sealing the deal. You try to pull away but he doesn’t let you. His hand on the back of your head keeps you firmly in place as your lips move together, and one soft push later, you’re back under him. Right where you belong.

“Tetsurou,” you mewl, running your fingers down his abs, swollen lips parting when he grinds his half-hard cock into your still wet pussy. “Again?”

“Wanna make my  _ girlfriend  _ feel good,” he smirks and leans down to capture your lips one more time.

*

Tetsurou Kuroo is a busy man. 

But he decides—even when the promotion he wanted really  _ does  _ go to someone else—he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Not when he knows you’ll be waiting for him at your apartment, arms open and heart full.


	10. Love Blooming (Tadashi Yamaguchi/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's so easy for you to fall for tadashi yamaguchi. too bad he's probably still in love with his best friend tsukki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one was hard for me for some reason so a big thank you and shoutout goes to niko for helping me through it, ilysm <333  
> includes: disaster bi yams, intercrural (thigh) sex, semi-public sex, kuroo being a BRO, angst with a happy ending  
> fem!reader, 10.1K

It’s because of your friend Hiroshi that you first learn about his strange regular. 

“His name is Tadashi Yamaguchi,” he tells you over a drink before his bar opens. “But that’s all I know about him. He comes in nearly every night but he only ever orders a Coke. I don’t get it.”

“Why don’t you try talking to him?” You lift an eyebrow. 

“That’s the thing. I  _ do _ . He only ever gives short answers!” Hiroshi sighs. “I don’t know how to describe him, you’ll have to see him for yourself. Maybe you can get him to talk.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you’re good at that sort of thing. He’ll probably come in tonight.”

You have nothing better to do that Friday night so you decide, sure, you’ll stick around to see this fabled Tadashi Yamaguchi for yourself. You sit at the bar nearly half the night, making small talk with Hiroshi and a few of his friends who visit, and it nears 11PM when Hiroshi comes over and smacks your shoulder.

“That’s him.”

Tadashi Yamaguchi is a very cute guy, but Hiroshi wasn’t joking when he said he looks out of place. He walks in with his head dipped down, eyes scanning the place before his gaze settles on the chair next to you. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his work coat that has the name of a local electronics company as he sits next to you. 

Now that you can see him closely, he’s more handsome. He’s got these freckles across his cheeks that give him a boyish look, his hair is shorter but still floppy somehow, and his thin lips lift up when he notices your lingering gaze. 

“Yamaguchi-san!” Hiroshi greets the guy like an old friend, like he wasn’t talking about how strange he found him earlier. “Another Coke for you?”

“If that’s okay.”

“I’ll take one too,” you lift your hand toward Hiroshi. “But put some Jack in it, thanks.”

“So demanding for someone who isn’t even paying.” Hiroshi scoffs playfully. 

“Love you!” You call out when he walks away. Then you decide to test Hiroshi’s theory and turn toward Yamaguchi to introduce yourself, giving him your name. It’s lucky you already knew his name because he mumbles his response. 

“So, do you come here often?” You ask him.

“Pretty often.”

“Is it close to your house?”

“On the way, yeah.”

Holy shit, Hiroshi wasn’t kidding. It's like pulling teeth to get him to answer. It’s the strangest feeling. Yamaguchi looks like he wants to talk to you, but at the same time, looks like he wants to be alone. How is that possible with one facial expression? This guy is an enigma.

“Only a Coke? Do you not drink?”

“I do, but…”

He doesn’t finish. A slightly awkward silence settles over you two, so you check your phone and play around on it a little bit before Hiroshi comes back with your drinks. Your friend gives you a look and you shake your head slightly, letting him know you also failed to crack the case of Tadashi Yamaguchi. 

“Can I get you anything else?” Hiroshi questions, and Yamaguchi shakes his head. 

“No, thank you.” 

Hiroshi shoots you an apologetic look before he leaves again, and you’re left swinging your legs under the bartop as you nurse your drink. You’re flicking through your Twitter, about halfway done with your drink, when you hear Yamaguchi clear his throat next to you. 

“I’ll see you later.” 

He gives you a smile before he slips out of the bar, his payment money sitting next to his empty glass of Coke. As soon as he’s gone, Hiroshi comes back over with a pointed look. 

“Anything?”

“No! He’s like a friggin walnut.”

“What?”

“Hard to crack. Just—nevermind.” 

You both laugh and begin talking about other things, but the way Yamaguchi smiled as he left the bar replays in your mind for the next few hours.

*

_ ‘You won’t believe this. That Yamaguchi guy asked about you. Wanted to know if you’ve been in recently. Come back tonight, I bet he’ll be here.’ _

Hiroshi’s message nearly knocks you off your chair when you read it. Tadashi Yamaguchi, the guy you barely spoke to, is asking about you? You don’t even remember saying more than five things to him so what’s up with him? Curiosity eats away at you all night, until you’re sitting at a table at Hiroshi’s bar again, sipping at your drink. 

Like clockwork, around 11PM, Yamaguchi walks into the bar, eyes flitting around the room. When he sees you, he pauses in his step for a millisecond and lifts a hand in greeting, then he continues onto the crowded bar. You didn’t even have time to return the greeting, so your hand lamely waves at absolutely nothing. You catch Hiroshi’s eye as he turns to grab Yamaguchi’s Coke and he sticks his tongue out at you. He’s enjoying this, that asshole. 

You ignore your friend, scrolling through your phone again, when someone clearing their throat makes you look up. Yamaguchi stands in front of your table, holding his glass close to his chest. 

“Hi, do you remember me?”

“Of course I do! Would you like to sit down?”

Part of you wants him to decline because the last conversation was so difficult, but the other half wants him to take the offer because you want to figure out why exactly this guy is so obsessed with Coke.

He accepts and sits across from you, looking like he’s at a job interview instead of a bar.

“Just another Coke for you tonight?” Your eyes flicker down to your gin and tonic before you offer a smile. “Maybe I should lay off the booze myself.”

“Oh, no, actually this is a Jack and Coke.” He laughs. “I figure if I’m at a bar, maybe I should drink once and a while too.”

Holy shit, Yamaguchi is actually talking to you. What on Earth is happening?

“Well don’t drink too much or else tomorrow won’t be very fun. Or maybe you’ll be okay. You’re younger and they have all the luck.”

Yamaguchi raises an eyebrow. “You don’t look much older than me.”

“So you’re saying I  _ am  _ old,” you deadpan.

It makes him stutter. “O-oh, no, I mean—”

You can’t keep your giggles contained, throwing a hand over your mouth. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Don’t look so flustered.”

Your reassurance takes the tension out of Yamaguchi’s shoulders and you both easily slip into casual conversation. You learn he works for an electronics company (obvious with his work jacket, but you won’t stop him from talking about it.) He used to play volleyball and was volleyball captain in his third year of high school before college. Even still, he gets nervous around new people. It makes sense then why he was so unapproachable at first, because once Yamaguchi begins talking, you almost can’t get him to quit. 

“I should go,” he says after he finishes the drink he’s been nursing for nearly an hour. You nod at him as he stands up, ready to give a parting greeting, but he beats you to the punch. “Will I see you again next week?”

You hadn’t planned to come back but you shrug anyway. “Sure, why not.”

Even in the dark bar, his megawatt smile is blinding.

*

Your Friday meetings become somewhat regular. After a month, Yamaguchi is much more open with you about himself and you find that you look forward to Fridays now, knowing he’ll be there. Hiroshi teases you, saying you have a crush on him, and maybe you do. You enjoy your conversations with him—even if it’s strictly platonic and you don’t have his phone number yet. It’s a nice change of pace from the boring co-workers you have to deal with all week anyway. 

But there’s something about Yamaguchi that seems a bit guarded. He’s open but cordial, talks about himself but seems standoffish at times. 

It all gets explained fairly quickly.

“Can I ask you a question…?” He asks suddenly, fiddling with his nearly empty cup.

“Of course.”

“Have you ever been in love before?”

Well that’s certainly not what you had expected. You shrug. “Sure I have. A few times at least.”

“Has it ever been with your best friend?”

Aha. There’s the stipulation. It makes your heart drop slightly but you shake off the feeling. It’s just a simple crush after all, nothing serious. Better to learn it now than to pine forever not knowing. 

“Actually, yeah,” you laugh, taking a big chug of your drink. “Back in high school.”

He perks up at that, eyes widening. “Can you tell me about it?”

“I mean, there’s not much to tell. I told him I liked him and he offered to try it out, but we only lasted a few months. We really couldn’t get into the whole ‘lovers’ rather than ‘best friends’ mindset. It worked out anyway. He moved overseas and has a wife and kid now. Seems happy.”

Yamaguchi nods to himself a few times, looking down at his drink as he contemplates your answer. “Do you… regret it?”

“Dating him?”

“Telling him you like him.”

You shake your head. “Not really. Actually, after I told him, it felt like a weight lifted off my chest. It’s hard to keep that sorta shit to yourself, you know? I was always analyzing his actions. He touched my arm, does he like me? He messaged me first, what do I say? That sort of thing. Once I told him, my mind stopped doing that and it was much easier to see him as my best friend again.”

Yamaguchi leans back in his seat with a clouded expression, finishing off the rest of his drink. You want to ask about it. You want to know about it. You want to help him work through his problems. But you don’t do any of that. When he’s ready, he’ll tell you, you know that. Based on his silence and sudden change to another topic, you know that the time isn’t now. 

Before he leaves that night, he offers his phone number and it takes everything in you not to grin stupidly at your phone.

*

“I’m going to tell him.”

That’s the first thing out of Yamaguchi’s mouth as soon as you sit down. He actually beat you to Hiroshi’s bar this week, taking up a spot at a table in the far corner. You could sense his nervous energy as you approached with your drink and it surprised you to see two empty glasses in front of his table.

“Alright, calm down tiger,” you joke as you slide into your seat. “Tell what to who?”

“I’m going to tell Tsukki that I like him.”

A million and ten thoughts run through your mind, but the one that sticks out is: wow, you really  _ don’t  _ have a chance, do you? It’s slightly upsetting but you won’t let Yamaguchi see that.

“Good for you!”

“It’s all thanks to you,” he gushes as he leans forward. There’s a flush to his cheeks behind his beautiful freckles. “I thought about your advice and you’re right. I can’t keep living with this weight on my shoulders.”

A part of you wants to ask him “ _ What will you do if he rejects you? _ ” but you feel like an ass for even thinking it. You don’t want to ruin his excitement. You smile anyway, placing a hand over his with a warm smile. You can see his ears tint the slightest pink at the gesture. 

“I wish you luck, Yamaguchi. Anyone would be lucky to have you as their boyfriend.”

“I—” He squeaks. He literally  _ squeaks _ . It might be the cutest sound you’ve ever heard. “T-thank you.”

Something deep inside of you hopes that Tsukki  _ does  _ reciprocate his feelings, so that you can get over your stupid crush faster and your heart can stop going crazy in your chest. 

*

‘ _ Can we meet earlier this week? _ ’

Your first and only text message from Yamaguchi fills you with dread the minute you read it. It’s only Tuesday, but asking to meet earlier meets that his confession to Tsukki went south and he’s in need of a friend. You’re more than willing to help him, but you hesitate over the message anyway. You know it will be hard for you to talk about your crushes’ forlorn crush. What a weird and crappy situation you got yourself into.

On your lunch break, you call Hiroshi and ask him to open the bar for the night.

“No way. Not even for you. Tuesday is my only day of the week off.”

“Please? Just for like an hour or two. Yamaguchi needs someone to talk to.”

His laugh is loud on the other end. “You got it bad, huh? Fine, I’ll leave the keys under the potted plant. Open and lock up yourself.” 

You thank him and hang up, staring at your phone with a sigh. Maybe Hiroshi is right. You do have it bad, don’t you? There’s no denying that he’s been in your thoughts a lot more lately. That you look forward to your Friday meetups. That you’ve hovered over his name in your phone, thinking about what to write and ultimately deciding on absolutely nothing. You curse his cute freckles as you shoot him an answer. 

_ ‘Come to the bar. I’ll bring beer.’ _

The reply is nearly immediate.

_ ‘Why do we need beer if it’s a bar?’ _

_ ‘Don’t question my methods! See you tonight.’ _

He answers with a laughing emoji and a confirmation and it’s all you can think about the entire workday.

You arrive at the bar first, unlock the door with the key under the pot, and set up a table just for the two of you with convenience store chicken, cake, and plenty of beer. You don’t want to mess with Hiroshi’s stash, so you hope it’s enough for the night. As you’re heating up the chicken, the bell above the door rings and Yamaguchi walks in, hands stuffed in his pants’ pockets. He’s still wearing his button-up white shirt and lanyard, his tag for work stuck in his front pocket. 

“Well, look at you, Mr. Office Worker,” you compliment as you walk over to the table with the chicken. “Did you dress up for me?”

“It’s my normal work outfit,” he laughs lightly, rubbing the back of his head. Even when you set the chicken down on the table and gesture to his seat, he doesn’t take it. He stares at you for a long time, making you shift awkwardly and raise an eyebrow.

“What is it?”

You don’t expect him to smother you in a hug, but that’s exactly what he does. His body is surprisingly sturdy and his grip strong as he holds you to his chest. Your heart is going crazy in your chest and you hope he can’t hear it. You pat his back awkwardly, wondering when he will let go, but he doesn’t, even when he speaks. 

“Tsukki is dating someone else. A friend of ours named Kuroo. He didn’t know how to tell me because he knew of my feelings.”

Your heart drops for the boy and you run your hand down his back soothingly. “I’m sorry, Yamaguchi.”

“You were right,” he suddenly says, and you try to pull back to look at him but he won’t let you. “I feel like… there’s this weight off my chest. I’m happy it’s finally out there, but…”

His body shakes slightly and you tear yourself away from his hold to cup his cheeks in your hands. Silent tears fall down his cheeks and you wipe them away for him, giving him the best reassuring smile you can. 

“I’m so proud of you,” you tell him. He stares down at you with large, misty eyes. “It took so much courage for you to tell him but you did anyway. It must have been so hard for you, keeping those feelings to yourself all those years. I meant when I said before. Anyone will be lucky to have you.”

Your words make him cry harder and you scramble for napkins on the table for him. You give him time to calm himself down, and before long, he’s taking deep breaths and dabbing at his reddened eyes. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, not looking at you. “I—”

“The only thing you should be sorry for is the cold chicken,” you smack his arm, trying to give him your best smile. He doesn’t need to see how your heart is breaking, both for him and for yourself. “Now I have to heat it up again! If you open our beers, I’ll be right back.”

The smile he gives you in return doesn’t exactly reach his eyes, but luckily it doesn’t last long. After a few too many beers and delicious sides, you’re both laughing at work stories and old memories from high school and university. 

“You know, it’s my money that helped Hiroshi open this place. I gave him half the loan because he’s my oldest friend. That’s why I get to drink for free here so many times. I think I’m the clear winner in this situation.”

“Oh, um,” Yamaguchi’s laughter dies to a quiet sigh. “About Hiroshi. Are you… dating?”

“Me and him?! Are you crazy?!” You cackle, throwing your head back like he’s just said the funniest thing in the world. “His fiancee would  _ literally  _ kill me!”

Is it your imagination, or do Yamaguchi’s shoulders relax a little bit at your denial? You try not to read into it too much, but it’s hard when he follows up with: “Then I can text you, right?”

You pause, turning your head to look at him. You hope he thinks the pink in your cheeks is from the beer. “You can text me anytime you want.”

“Okay,” he smiles shyly down into his drink, and that’s when you know you’re down  _ bad _ . 

*

Yamaguchi makes good on his promise to text you, starting bright and early the next morning, complaining of his head hurting from the beer. It begins a flurry of texts back and forth for weeks on end. Sometimes you think you know more about him than you know about yourself, and it doesn’t make your crush any easier. 

The advice you gave Yamaguchi all those months ago about admitting your crush so you don’t read into it doesn’t mean much when you can’t even follow it. Half the time, you’re reading his messages like a mystery novel, trying to decipher what he means when he calls you pretty or says he’s looking forward to seeing you that week. The other half of the time, you’re trying to let yourself down gently, telling yourself that he’s  _ still  _ in love with his friend Tsukki with the amount of times he gets brought up weekly. 

You haven’t spoken about the night at the bar when he cried in your arms. You’re too nervous to bring it up yourself and he hasn’t mentioned it again. You figure he’s working out his feelings on his own—something personal that you don’t need to butt into. But it still makes it harder to decipher what his intentions are with his lowkey flirty messages or the occasional brush of a hand while you meet for drinks. 

It’s around the sixth month of you knowing him when things finally take a step further. 

“Are you busy tomorrow?” he asks over his drink. 

You shake your head. “No, I’m not. I like to veg out on the weekends, you know that.”

“Oh I know, it’s just that, um.” He fiddles with his cup before he takes a deep breath. “There’s a really cool movie I want to see. Do you want to go with me?”

_ Is he asking you out on a date? Oh God, is this really happening? _

You try to control your nerves as you give him a nod that you’re sure comes off as way more nervous than confident. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

“Oh, good!” He sighs, and you can see the tension flood out of his system. “Can I pick you up in front of your place then?”

You don’t trust your voice, so you nod your confirmation, trying to hide your smile as you rush off to get a refill on your drink. 

*

The movie is good, but the company is even better. Yamaguchi looks as nervous as you feel, but you both fall into a rhythm like you do at the bar after the movie lets out. By the time you make it back to your apartment, your cheeks hurt from all the smiling and laughing you’ve done over the course of the day, and you smack them to calm yourself down. 

_ He never said it was a date _ , you remind yourself as you change into your pajamas, but as soon as you think that, your phone lights up with another text from him.

_ I had so much fun! Do you want to go to another movie soon? Your choice. _

What the hell? You’re panicking as you stare down at your phone, unsure of what to say. Obviously the answer is yes, but if you answer right away, will he find you desperate? How long should you make it wait to make it seem like you’re interested but not too interested? How many movies can you see before he actually says the word  _ date  _ outloud? 

You feel like you’re back in high school, all giddy from one handsome guy with the cutest freckles. In the end, you decide against acting cool and message back an affirmative, planning for the next weekend.

That meeting leads to another that leads to another, and yet nothing has been set in stone. Are these really dates? Or is Yamaguchi  _ really  _ that big of a movie buff? He hasn’t held your hand, hasn’t asked you out officially, hasn’t even bent down to kiss you like all those romance movies do. But he has tucked your hair behind your ear, flushed as he told you how cute you look, averted his gaze when you notice him staring. It’s all too much to understand clearly. 

At the end of your fourth movie meeting, you finally gather the courage to ask him over dinner. 

“Yamaguchi, what is this?” You ask him plainly. You clutch the chopsticks in your hand to keep yourself from shaking.

“Huh?” He responds, blinking his large eyes up at you. “It’s dinner.”

“No, I mean—” You gesture between the two of you with your chopsticks without finishing. 

His cheeks grow red at the insinuation. “I, well, um. It’s… you know. Dinner with, uh, the girl I like.”

_ The girl he likes _ . You feel like your soul leaves your body. You’ve been trying to downplay the meetings (dates?) in favor of pretending your crush is one-sided, to avoid being hurt in the long run. Yet, you never really stopped to think about what Yamaguchi thought about it all. It’s a pleasant and very welcome surprise.

“Then… a date?” 

He glances at you and softly mumbles, “Yeah, if you want.”

“I do,” you immediately answer, then clear your throat to not seem so eager. “I mean, I do. Want it to be a date. Because I like you too.”

His mouth opens slightly, and he stares at you like he can’t believe you just said that, even though he’s the one who admitted it first. You don’t know what else to say so you stare down at your half-eaten pork cutlet, picking at the remaining pieces. There’s another question on the tip of your tongue that you’re too afraid to ask:  _ Does that mean you want to be my boyfriend?  _

Thankfully, he is the one who asks this time. 

“Does that mean we’re dating?”

It’s your turn to mumble. “Yeah, if you want.”

You chance a glance up at him and you swear his face is now half a smile, his eyes disappearing with his giddy excitement. 

*

Hiroshi laughs as soon as you tell him the news after a few weeks of keeping it secret. 

“I never once thought that I’d become a matchmaker,” he muses as he takes a sip of his drink. “You can thank me at any time.”

“I won’t.”

“Oh come on. Where’s the boyfriend now?”

You flush at the word boyfriend. It’s still new, not even three weeks since you started dating, so hearing it out loud is still foreign to your ears. 

“He’s meeting with his friend Tsukki.”

“Wait,” Hiroshi holds up a hand. “Isn’t that the one he is in love with?”

His use of the present tense makes you freeze.  _ Is  _ in love with, not  _ was  _ in love with. You can’t deny you’ve had the same thoughts. It’s only been a few weeks, and from the sound of it, Yamaguchi has been in love with him for  _ years _ . Your body feels like Hiroshi threw one of his buckets of ice over you, but you give him a stretched smile anyway.

“The guy he  _ was  _ in love with,” you emphasize, more for yourself than your friend. “Who am I to tell them to stop meeting? That wouldn’t be fair. He’s apparently known the guy since elementary school.”

“Well, if you’re sure.”

Hiroshi shrugs and changes topics, but the bad feeling in your gut won’t leave. In fact, it increases as soon as you get a text message from Yamaguchi. A picture of him and a very tall blonde guy with glasses, with a rooster-looking guy in the back holding up a peace sign. 

‘ _ Tsukki and Kuroo say hi! _ ’

_ At least he’s with the boyfriend too _ , you tell yourself to ward off the sinking feeling in your stomach. You know you shouldn’t let Hiroshi’s words affect you this badly, but the nagging feeling just won’t go away. It becomes all consuming when Yamaguchi calls you before bed, gushing about Tsukki’s volleyball team, the Sendai Frogs.

“We should go to one of his games together!” he suggests after a few minutes with no break.

“I don’t know,” you mumble. “I’ve never met your friend, would it be awkward?”

“Oh, I guess you’re right.”

Yamaguchi doesn’t offer to introduce you or take you anyway, and that sticks on your mind until you fall into a restless sleep.

*

Winter is settling in nicely, so instead of opting to go out like usual, Yamaguchi begins coming over to your apartment, curling up on your couch with you under your thickest blankets. Tonight is no exception. Empty beer cans and half-eaten french fries sit on your coffee table, and the ending of some romance movie plays in the background, but you’re too focused on the way Yamaguchi’s mouth moves against yours. 

His hand tightens in the back of your hair as he holds you close, and you shiver at his little gasp when you run your tongue over his bottom lip. Your tongues meet in the middle and slide together slowly, like he is trying out something new, trying to figure out what you like. You tighten your fingers in his sweater and push closer to him, relishing in the way his sturdy body feels against you.

He breaks apart for air and stares down at you with wonder. His freckles are even more pronounced thanks to his flush, and you smooth your fingertips over his cheeks. He’s a marvel, really. His face never fails to get your heart racing. His fingers flutter down the side of your neck, running along your exposed collarbones under your loose sweatshirt, and you gulp. While you’ve kissed a few times like this, you’ve never gone any further, but something is telling you that tonight might be different. 

Yamaguchi’s hand wraps around the back of your neck to tug you closer but he doesn’t kiss you. His lips move from your jaw to your ear and down further; he presses little pecks until he reaches the crook of your neck, where he darts his tongue out to taste your skin. You mewl and tilt your head for him, and he does it again, licking a few times before he begins to suck.

You arch into him when his hand moves under your shirt and dances along your back, and you can feel him hard beneath you when you shift your hips. He squeaks and immediately pulls away from you.

“S-sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you immediately cut him off before he can say anything else. “Don’t.”

You hope he gets the hint behind your words, but he hesitates for long enough that you lean forward and kiss him again yourself. This one is a bit more urgent, your tongues immediately connecting as you cling to one another. He grinds his hips into yours and you both groan into the kiss.

He breaks it to push you back against the couch cushions, crawling in between your parted legs. Before he leans back down, he tugs off his sweater and undershirt, exposing his chest to you. It’s lean but sturdy, and freckles and moles trace patterns along his skin that you can follow with your fingers. 

Yamaguchi stares down at you and you quickly pick up the hint without him saying anything. You pull your sweatshirt off and then your sports bra, leaving your own chest bare for him. His eyes widen at your exposed breasts and he goes awkwardly still as he continues to stare.

“Y-Yamaguchi,” you whine in embarrassment, pulling your arms up to cover yourself. 

“Sorry, I— sorry.” 

You aren’t sure if he can flush any darker. He leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips and you move your arms from your chest to wrap around his shoulders. His chest is so warm against yours and he whimpers into the kiss when your hard nipples brush against his skin.

“Can I touch them?” He mumbles against your lips, and you can only swallow thickly and nod, all words lost in your tight throat.

He pulls back again, unpracticed hands grabbing both of your breasts. His thumb runs over your pert nipples and you shudder, grinding your hips down to get some friction. Your whimper becomes a full moan when he takes one of your nipples into your mouth, rolling his tongue around it and his other finger pinches and tugs. You arch up into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair to hold him close as he begins to suck and nibble. Your core throbs when he switches sides, and your hands move down his back until you reach the back of his jeans. You tug on the fabric with a small whine, but he pulls back in alarm.

“Wait, I forgot, I… I don’t have a condom.”

_ Oh no _ . You don’t have one either and you’re not on birth control.  _ Idiot _ , you berave yourself. If you would have known, you would have picked some up at the store earlier.

You glance down to the very noticeable bulge in his jeans and lick your lips. You don’t want him to leave without seeing it. You want him to touch it, lick it, bounce on it. You don’t want him to think of anyone else while he touches himself, especially not Tsu—you stop yourself mid-thought.  _ Why are you thinking that now _ ?

“There’s still something we can do.”

He tilts his head at your offer and you pat your inner thighs, biting your bottom lip. He seems to get your hint and visibly gulps, shaky hands covering yours.

“Is that… okay?”

“Yes,” you breathe and turn your hands so they’re grabbing his. “I want you to.”

“Okay.”

He gives you a nervous smile before he pulls back, unbuttoning his jeans. He doesn’t pull them off all the way—just enough so that he can pull his hard cock out of his boxers. You stare at it, mouth going dry. He’s a bit longer than you expected him to be, and his tip is already red with pre-cum leaking out. You hurry to shimmy out of your own lounge pants and underwear, and his eyes immediately lock onto your pussy.

“You’re wet,” he states like a fact, voice mystified. 

You can’t help but giggle. “Of course I am. You turn me on.”

He blows air out of his nose as if he can’t believe it, eyes still locked on the lower half of your body even when he scoots closer. You lift your legs so they’re both firmly planted on the sofa and he slides his hard cock in between your thighs with a soft groan. You squeeze them together for him, shifting down slightly so there’s enough room to move one of your hands to your clit.

“Go ahead,” you beckon, and he pulls back once before thrusting between your thighs again. 

It’s a strange feeling at first but once you both relax and Yamaguchi starts a normal thrusting pace, warmth spreads all over your body. Your pussy clenches watching his face contort in pleasure, eyes focused on your legs and mouth open as he gasps for breath. His fingers cling to the sides of your thighs as he thrusts between them, and your fingers begin circling your clit in time with his thrusts. It makes you whimper and clench your legs harder around him.

“F-feels good,” he murmurs, eyes flicking up to your face. Sweat clings to his browline and around his temples. “Are you…?”

He flicks down to your hand hidden underneath his thrusting cock and you nod. “I feel good too, Tadashi.”

He groans at the use of his first name and digs his fingers into your skin harder. His eyes squeeze shut as he pumps between your thighs. You can feel wetness dripping out of your throbbing pussy and you work your fingers faster, chasing the budding warmth that grows in your stomach. Yamaguchi is close behind, his chest heaving with his breaths, his sweat dripping down onto your knees.

“ _ Tadashi _ !” You gasp, grinding closer to him as your orgasm peaks. Your eyes squeeze shut as your body arches off the couch then shivers. Yamaguchi gives the most delicious gasp and groan, and you feel warm cum splatter on your stomach and thighs as he orgasms.

You slowly open your eyes to see him staring at you. Shyness floods you at the soft look on his face and you hide your mouth behind one of your hands. He grabs onto your hand and pulls it away from your mouth, leaning down to claim your lips.

“Wait, it’s dirty,” you mumble against his lips, but he makes a sound in his throat.

“Don’t care.”

It makes you giggle, and you both laugh together, clinging to one another through your flurry of kisses. 

*

The longer you two spend together, the more the rift you feel between you starts to deepen. It’s nothing that you can pinpoint exactly—only little things that add up in your anxious brain. You still haven’t met any of Yamaguchi’s friends personally, even though he’s met a few of yours. He still frequently meets Tsukki and talks about him enough that you think you know that guy’s life story. Worker at a museum, player for a volleyball team, tall, standoff-ish. You listen calmly, asking questions about his friends and family like any good partner would do, but a heaviness weighs on you.

You can’t exactly ask him to knock it off, can you? You don’t want to do that at all. Tsukki is his best friend and obviously he’ll be a part of Yamaguchi’s life. But a deep-seated feeling of anxiety thrums within you the more you think about it. Yamaguchi has feelings for you, that much is certain. He wouldn’t be holding your hand, kissing you, cuddling you, touching you if not. But the question lingers: does he still like Tsukki too? It’s painful to think about it and hard to voice. So you suffer alone, stewing in your worries with every call and text. 

It’s Christmas that makes you snap.

“It’s next week!” You hum as you take a sip of your hot chocolate. Today you’re at Yamaguchi’s apartment instead of your own. “Should we make plans?”

“Well, actually, I’ve been meaning to talk about that,” your boyfriend ruffles the back of his head, an apologetic look on his face. “Tsukki’s museum is having a banquet that night and he invited me. It’s a special event for workers.”

Your heart plunges in your chest. “On Christmas?”

“They have one every year and he got two extra tickets this year…” 

You hear the implication loud and clear. Two tickets means one for Yamaguchi and one for Kuroo. Which means you’ll be sitting at home while the three of them party together at the museum.

“And you’re going to go?”

“Um, well, I wanted to. So I thought we could do something on Christmas Eve!”

“Oh.”

You don’t know what else to say. Disappointment floods through you, but even more than that,  _ shame  _ smacks you in the face with a cold hand. You’re an idiot. You never wanted to be the most important person in Yamaguchi’s life, but hearing that you’re an afterthought like this is agonizing. You’re never going to be first on his priority list and it’s too painful to bear.

You set down your half-empty mug carefully and stand up, ignoring his  _ “Hey, what’s wrong?” _ as you fumble for your coat. You don’t want to be here anymore; you don’t want him to see your burning cheeks, don’t want him to see you cry before you can race out of the apartment and sob in the comfort of your own home. 

“Wait, wait—” He begs breathlessly. He’s faster than you and grabs onto the sleeve of your coat before you can zip it up. “Where are you going? Did I upset you?”

Everything you’ve been feeling over the past few weeks boils over like the tears that leak out of your eyes. “Of course you did!”

He freezes, eyes wide as he stares at you. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“Tadashi, I’m not a replacement or a stand-in for Tsukki. You know that, right?”

“W-what?”

“I’m not here just to be something fun to pass the time until you have a chance with Tsukki.”

“I’ve never thought of you like that.  _ Ever _ . What are you talking about?”

“Why haven’t I met him yet?” You demand, trying to wipe away your rolling tears with the back of your hands, but they keep falling. “Why haven’t you introduced me to Tsukki and Kuroo yet? There’s been plenty of chances.”

Yamaguchi doesn’t have an answer. His mouth parts and closes, his eyebrows scrunching in thought.

“Why did you say yes to the banquet without consulting me first? Or ask if Tsukki could get another ticket for me to join you?”

“I didn’t…” Yamaguchi clears his throat, fingers tightening on your jacket sleeve. “I didn’t want to inconvenience him by asking.”

“But you can inconvenience me by leaving me alone on our first Christmas together?”

Another unanswered question. It’s the silence that hurts the most, the inability for him to defend himself. He doesn’t need to though. You know the truth without him saying it to you.

“I like you so much,” you sob, closing your eyes as your feelings flood out. You can feel him shift awkwardly in front of you, like he wants to comfort you but doesn’t know how. “But I can’t—no, I  _ won’t  _ be an afterthought, Tadashi.” You open your eyes again and you almost wish you hadn’t. Yamaguchi is crying too, large tears rolling down his pale cheeks. “I don’t think this is going to work out.”

“What? No, no, don’t say that.” His fingers grip tighter to your jacket and he tries to pull you close but you stand your ground. “I like you too, so  _ please _ don’t say that.”

“Let me go, please.”

“ _ No _ ,” he sobs, head dropping down to the floor. “If I let you go, you’re going to walk out and I won’t get you back.”

“I just need time to think. I can’t be here right now.” It’s so painful to get the next words out. “Please Tadashi, let go.”

There’s a hesitancy in his response but eventually his hands drop away from you. You race out the door of his apartment without looking back, tears blurring your vision as you run home.

*

“Here idiot, drink up.”

You eye the amber liquid Hiroshi pushes your way wearily. Even though you sit in his bar, you aren’t exactly up to drinking like usual. In fact, it’s a struggle to even eat or get out of your house. You took a sick day from work today after your boss complained about your performance yesterday, hoping that a three-day weekend would help you get out of the depression you’re currently in. Never has a break up hit you this bad before; you feel like every part of you hurts both emotionally and physically. 

“Thanks,” you grumble in annoyance, taking a small sip. The burn feels nice in your cold body.

“Have you called him in the last two days at all?”

You shake your head and sigh, looking down at your glass. “He’s called and messaged a few times though.”

“I think you should talk to him.” You look up at your friend and he shrugs. “People make mistakes. Obviously he’s inexperienced with relationships and he’s probably used to putting his friends first. You should give him a chance to explain.”

“I know,” you chew on your lip, looking off to the side. “I know that but it’s still too painful right now.”

Hiroshi’s phone pings and he checks it really quick, shooting a message back before turning back to you. “Fine, fine. Wallow for a bit more. You can stay here as long as you’d like.”

You don’t know if you want to. There’s always a chance Yamaguchi could come looking for you. It is Friday after all, the day you used to meet at the bar before you started dating. You’re not sure why you’re here in the first place but Hiroshi’s bar has always been a comfort place for you.

You try to leave twice but Hiroshi won’t let you. “ _ Just caring about my friend, _ ” he tells you the first time, but the second time, you start to get suspicious. His phone keeps pinging and you eye him over your second glass of whiskey. When he puts his phone down for the umpteenth time and gives you a shit-eating grin, you glare.

“If you invited Tadashi here to talk, I swear to God—”

“Not Yamaguchi, I promise.”

“Then who?”

“You’ll see.”

You bicker back and forth for a few more minutes before the bell above the door rings. You turn to the person and do a double take. Rooster-hair sits upon the head of a tall, muscular man in a freshly pressed dark blue suit, and his cat-like eyes crinkle when he sees you still sitting at the bar.  _ Kuroo _ . You recognize the man from Yamaguchi’s pictures.

“Glad you could keep her here.”

“It’s no problem,” Hiroshi answers with a wave. “You want a beer?”

“No, I can’t stay long, but thanks.”

“Hiroshi,” you hiss at your friend, pointing a finger at him. “What are you doing?”

“If you won’t talk to Tadashi, talk to his friend. I’m tired of you moping. Get it together.” He winks at you before he walks away with a,  _ All yours, Kuroo-san _ .

You turn back to the tall man, gulping down the rest of your drink. You don’t want to be rude to Tadashi’s friend—not when this is the first time you’re meeting and first impressions are super important—but the situation is so annoying that you can’t help your snappy tone.

“What can I help you with?”

“I came to give you this.” 

He hands you a small envelope and gestures at you to open it. Inside is a dark red ticket to the banquet that started your whole fight with Tadashi in the first place. You stare at it for a bit before you look up at Kuroo with misty eyes.

“‘ _ All he had to do was ask, that idiot. _ ’ That’s what Tsukki told me to tell you anyway.” Kuroo grins and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Personally I think they’re both idiots since he should have known that you’d want to come too.”

You try to hide your snort behind a hand. “Isn’t that your boyfriend?”

“So? Just because I love him doesn’t mean he’s not an idiot.”

Then you’re laughing together: him at his joke and you at the ridiculousness of it all. 

“Listen, Yamaguchi is a good guy but he can be a bit misguided when it comes to relationships. I won’t butt into your business, but I will say that he looks  _ much  _ worse than you. If it makes you feel any better.”

“It doesn’t,” you answer honestly then glance to your phone on the bartop. After a few seconds, you look back at Kuroo with a nod. “Thank you. I’ll think about it.”

“I hope to see you there. It was nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

You see him off with a wave, but as soon as he’s gone, you let out a sigh. The ticket sits heavy in your hands, the presence of your phone looming like a dark cloud behind you. Hiroshi shuffles back into the room and clears his throat.

“That help any?”

“Yeah…” You take a deep breath and grab your phone. “Yeah, it did.”

*

It hasn’t even been half-an-hour since your ‘ _ Can you come to the bar to talk? _ ’ text when the door flings open and Yamaguchi steps inside. He heaves for breath and stares at you like a deer in the headlights, looking unsure of what to do next. Kuroo wasn’t kidding when he said Yamaguchi looked awful—there are bags under his bloodshot eyes and his hair is a lot more wild than usual. He’s also not in his work clothes, but sweatpants and an old volleyball sweatshirt. 

“Tadashi,” you greet him as you stand from your stool at the bartop.

That’s apparently all he needs to hear, because he stalks over to you and throws his arms around you without saying anything. You’re crushed against his chest, his arms holding your head close to his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you hear him whisper into the crown of your head. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t—” He shuffles you so you can see him, your face gently cradled between his hands. “I didn’t think about you and your feelings. I’m  _ not  _ using you and you’re  _ not  _ a replacement. Please believe me. I thought you wouldn’t want to meet Tsukki or Kuroo because… well, because of everything that happened before, but I… I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“I’m sorry too.” You bring your hands to his wrists, holding his warmth close to you. “I should have been more honest with how I felt a long time ago.”

“I’m not in love with Tsukki,” he blurts out, hands tightening around your face. “At least not like that anymore. I… I want to be with you. I like  _ you _ . I should have told you that sooner, I’m s—”

You cut him off with a kiss, throwing your arms around his neck to pull him closer. He holds you by the back of the head as he returns your kiss, fingers tightening in the back of your sweater. You’re too wrapped up in him to remember Hiroshi is still in the bar, but you’re soon reminded when you hear the click of a photo being taken behind you.

Your friend sits behind the bar, grinning at the two of you as he waves his phone.

“Good pic. I’m sending it to Kuroo.”

“Don’t you dare, you asshole.”

You start to move away from Yamaguchi to give your friend a punch, but he won’t let you. He crushes you to his chest again so hard that you squeak.

“That means Kuroo was here, right? Did you get the ticket?” He asks.

You look up at him with confusion in your eyes. “How did you know?”

“I sent him,” he sheepishly admits. “I wanted to see if you were okay and if you accepted it, you know, that meant maybe you could forgive me.” He chuckles with his nervous smile. “Does that mean you forgive me…?” You nod and his smile grows wider, eyes nearly disappearing. “And you’re going with me to the banquet?”

“I’ll have to buy a dress.”

“Let’s go shopping together. That way we can match.”

He doesn’t say it, but you understand what he means loud and clear. He wants to match you because he wants to show you off. Your first official event as his girlfriend. It brings heat to your cheeks and you nod excitedly. 

Things will be okay after all.

*   
  


The museum is decorated from top to bottom in Christmas lights and garland, and even the statues around the entrance sport either hats or wreaths around their necks. You check your reflection one more time in the glass doors, fixing the knee length skirt of your red dress, before Yamaguchi opens the door for you. He looks so handsome in his black suit, his red bow tie matching the color of your dress, and he smiles down at you with pink cheeks that you know aren’t just from the cold. He’s been staring at you nearly all night—ever since he came to pick you up by taxi—and his hand has brushed against your lower back and the swell of your butt far too many times to be coincidental. 

With a loose arm around your waist, he leads you over to the man taking coats for the evening. The lobby is set up like a bar, with tables hosting drinks and food making a circle around the people chatting. Once you hand over your coat, you spot Kuroo and Tsukki standing near a table with champagne, and you look up at Tadashi with a soft smile.

“Should we go greet them?”

He matches your smile and leans to press a soft kiss to your forehead, nodding. “Yeah. Time to officially introduce them to my girlfriend.”

Kuroo is as welcoming as ever, giving you a grin and a “Nice to see you again.” Tsukki is a little harder to read. The guy is massive and you feel like he’s judging you the moment his eyes land on you from behind his large glasses. Luckily Yamaguchi intervenes and tells you that’s just his face and to ignore him if he’s being rude.

“I’m not rude.” Tsukki grumbles.

Kuroo is the one who cackles. “Have you seen yourself lately?”

“Or at all?” Yamaguchi finishes for him.

It makes you laugh and the four of you fall into easy conversation. After eating and drinking, you begin to wander around the museum, checking out the different displays they have. Tsukki explains about a few of them as you pass, and you eventually end up in front of a children’s exhibit on dinosaurs. 

“You would lead us here.” Kuroo snorts as he shakes his head. 

“Tsukki really loves dinosaurs,” Yamaguchi explains as Tsukki begins defending himself to his boyfriend. He squeezes your hand and you smile, leaning into him. He hasn’t let go of your hand since you started walking and you appreciate the warmth and comfort of his touch.

“Look at that one.” You point to a small model of a T-Rex and look back to Yamaguchi. “What do you think he’d say if he was alive right now? On the count of three.” 

You count down, and Yamaguchi bursts out “ _ I’m hungry _ ” while you blurt out “ _ Feed me _ .” The similarity of your answers makes you both fall into giggles.

“Don’t be idiots,” Tsukki chides as he walks over. “The T-Rex was the king of the jungle. He could feed all he wanted.”

“Please don’t get started, babe.” Kuroo groans, wrapping an arm around Tsukki’s shoulder. “Let’s leave these two to their privacy for now.” He gives you a polite nod, then leans into Yamaguchi’s ear and whispers something you can’t hear. It must be really shocking because Yamaguchi doubles back, his cheeks flaming red as he gaze flicks over to you. Kuroo’s smile grows into a sly grin and he drags Tsukki away, both of them saying they’ll see you later.

“What did he say?” You question once the other two disappear around the hall. 

“I—nothing.” But it’s definitely not nothing with the way he is so quick to dismiss it. “He only told me where the bathroom is.”

“Oh, do you have to go?”

“Um, yeah.”

You eye him suspiciously, but he averts his gaze, leading you down a darkened hallway close to the children’s display. At the end of the hallway are the bathrooms, and you try to pull away to let him go, but he won’t let you. Yamaguchi checks behind him really fast before he pulls you into the women’s bathroom and presses you up against the door.

“T-tadashi, what are you doing?” You breathe, fingers gripping the lapels of his suit. He’s trapped you against the door with his firm body, and he’s already breathing heavily from his parted lips.

“You’re just so pretty tonight,” he whispers, lips ghosting over your forehead, then your nose, until he stops right above your lips. “I can’t keep my hands off of you.”

“ _ Here _ ?” 

You squeak when he bypasses your lips and starts kissing down your neck, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck before he bites down softly. You shift against him with a gasp and he grinds his hips into yours, sucking on your neck with a muffled groan. You can his half-hard cock pressed up against your hip and your body flushes at the thought of having sex somewhere so publicly.

He pulls back enough to say “No one is coming,” before he dives back in to nip at your skin. You’ve slept together a few times before but you haven’t since your fight, and you can sense his urgency in the way his hands move under your skirt and tug at your black leggings.

“We don’t have much time then,” you whisper, and his eyes flick up to you calculatingly before he pulls your leggings and underwear down in one swift move. It startles you enough to squeak out, “ _ Tadashi _ !”

“I can’t wait, I’m sorry,” he apologizes without any weight whatsoever, fumbling to pull his dress shirt out of his pants and undo his belt. 

You kick off your shoes so you can slip out of your tights and underwear, grabbing his suit jacket to pull him against you again. Your lips finally find each others’ and you part your lips for him easily, fingers threading through his hair as your tongues dance together. You don’t realize Yamaguchi has pulled his pants down until you can feel his bare cock grind against your pussy. It makes you mewl and grab onto him harder.

One of his hands trails up your inner thigh until his fingers run over your folds. He trails his fingers up and down before he slowly pushes his middle finger inside of you, eyes fixed on your face. You whimper his name, biting down on your lower lip as you watch him with lidded eyes. He looks so excited; so happy; so in  _ love _ . It makes your heart race even faster.

After a few thrusts of his finger, he adds another, thumb brushing over your throbbing clit. You push into him with a whine, hand moving down to wrap around his fully hard cock. He gasps and grinds closer to you, capturing your lips again in a desperate kiss that makes your head spin. He doesn’t last more than a few pumps of your hand before he rips himself away, digging in the back pocket of his pants and pulling out a condom.

“Tadashi, did you plan this?” You joke with him, grinding your core against his dick again while he fumbles to open the packet.

“Not in the bathroom, no,” he answers breathlessly as he rolls his condom on. “But I can’t wait until later. Wrap your legs around me.”

“What? No, I’m heavy, I don’t think—”

His kiss is sweet when he cuts you off. “Trust me.”

You bite on your lip but nod anyway, letting him lift you by your hips. You wrap your legs around him obediently as he grabs hold of your ass, and you cling to his shoulders as he pushes his cock into you. You both moan as he thrusts shallowly until he’s completely inside of you, and Yamaguchi goes still for a moment before his hips jerk again.

“You’re so pretty, you’re so good,” he gasps as he starts a quick pace, his dick filling you up and hitting all the right places. Something about tonight makes it feel so much better than normal and you move your hips to meet his, whimpering as he hits deeper with your new angle. When his thumb brushes over your clit again, you shudder and cling to him even harder, leaning forward to kiss him. It’s messy—full of tongue and your matching sounds as he presses you against the door and fucks you harder.

The pleasure makes your toes curl and you pull away from his mouth to throw your head back, familiar heat building in your stomach. His thumb circles your clit faster and you clench around him, gasping for breath as you cling to him. Your body begins to shake as your orgasm swells, and you can barely keep your eyes open to stare at him. His cheeks are flushed, eyes looking barely focused as he watches your reaction, sweat dripping from his temple down to his cheek. He looks so good like that and the soft groan he emits brings your orgasm to a head.

“ _ Tadashi _ !” His name falls from your lips like a prayer as you cum, nails digging into his shoulders so tightly that you’re sure he’ll have marks even through his suit. You can’t stop shaking and pushing closer to him, the warmth running through your body overtaking every bit of your senses. You hear a soft whimper of your name before Yamaguchi’s hips stutter and slam into you one more time. He goes still, forehead leaning against your shoulder as he tries to stop trembling.

You run your fingers through his hair, murmuring how good he made you feel as he catches his breath. When he lifts his head, his eyes are full of admiration for you, his smile nearly blinding, and it makes your cheeks turn even redder than before. He pulls out and helps you down to your feet, checking that you’re okay on your own before he ties up the condom and buries it in the trash can where no one will be able to see it.

“What  _ exactly  _ did Kuroo say to you before?” You ask again when you both begin to fix yourselves up.

He tries to hide his smile by biting his bottom lip. “Well, he said, ‘ _ No one uses that bathroom down the hall _ .’ I guess he, um, saw how I’d been looking at you all night.”

“I wonder how he knows that?”

Yamaguchi grimaces. “I don’t want to think about it.”

You hide an embarrassed laugh behind your hand. Kuroo is too perceptive for his own good, you realize very quickly. You’ll blame him if you somehow get in trouble for your romp in a public bathroom.

“Should we head back?” 

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Yamaguchi offers you his arm and you walk back to the lobby together, leaning against each other with satisfied and happy smiles. As soon as you see Kuroo and Tsukki, they give you knowing smirks that make you both sputter awkwardly. But they also give you smiles and laughs that welcome you to their little group like you always should have been there in the first place.

While Yamaguchi talks to his friends, you watch him with soft eyes, and when he catches your gaze and smiles, you can’t help the matching happy smile that tugs at your lips. His hand squeezes yours as he brings you closer. Warmth blooms in your chest and you set your hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your fingers. With a chaste kiss to the top of your head, he seals the deal.

Tadashi Yamaguchi is yours, just as you’re his. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> communication is important kids


	11. Home is Where the Onigiri Is (Osamu Miya/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> onigiri miya is like a second home to you at this point. it helps that the owner, osamu miya, is easy on the eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll be honest and say this one is... not my favorite ;;;   
> i don't feel like i characterized osamu very well and overall it wasn't hard to write, but it isn't what i wanted in the end  
> i also curbed my own rules and reader doesn't meet osamu in a bar (but there's a bar involved)  
> but i hope you all enjoy anyway <3  
> tw: fluff, it's like... all fluff. :D semi-public sex (?), rawdog (stay safe kids), fem!reader, 6.9K

Onigiri Miya is like a second home to you at this point. 

It was the first place you’d wandered into after you’d gotten lost in the neighborhood. Moving for school had been easy in theory, but sitting in your new little apartment with no friends, no family, and no  _ clue  _ where you lived hit you all at once. But it wasn’t like you to mope around and wait for something to come to you—you figured it was best to get a feel for the neighborhood so you wouldn’t get lost in the future.

Then you did just that.

Everything was fine at first. You were following your GPS, getting used to the new big city you could now call home, and then your data cut out. The maps went dead; the backstreets became confusing. You still wandered around, trying to remember buildings to get you back, but it was useless. You were inexplicably lost.

That’s when you saw the sign for Onigiri Miya. 

The shop is small and quaint, with enough tables and chairs to house about ten patrons. Luckily there was no one inside when you stepped in for the first time. You’re sure you looked frazzled back then, hair frizzy from your sweat, cheeks red from embarrassment and nervousness, chewing on your bottom lip as you fanned yourself from the summer heat. 

“Welcome,” the owner had said with a smile that took your breath away.

The food at Onigiri Miya is amazing—some of the best you’ve had in all of Japan—but that’s not the only thing that keeps you coming back multiple times a week. 

Osamu Miya. 

It’s silly to have a crush on the owner of the restaurant you frequent, but he makes it extremely easy. He’s obviously attractive, with his cropped hair, chiseled jaw, strong body from years of volleyball and food service work. His smiles are extremely easy on the eyes and make your heart flutter whenever he gives you one. But he’s much more than that. 

On days when it’s just the two of you in the restaurant—him cleaning and prepping, you working on your school work at one of the tables—conversation comes easily. He’s a good listener, whether it’s a story about your childhood or a complaint about your coursework. You return the favor, apt to listen to stories about his famous twin brother and old volleyball teammates. You’ve even met one of them by chance, their old captain named Kita, who told you all about how Osamu and Atsumu used to fight on the court, much to Osamu’s chagrin.

It’s on one of those days when you’re alone in the store when Osamu slides a bottled tea your way. 

“Hm?” You blink at the green tea with a smile. “What’s this?”

“Ya look a bit down,” he shrugs as he cracks open his own bottled drink. “Thought ya might want a break.”

“A break sounds great.” You lift your arms and stretch out your body, letting out a faint groan at your soreness. It’s been about two hours since you came this time. You didn’t mean to stay so long—it’s usually only an hour before you feel bad enough to head out—but this reading is much longer than any of your others. “Sorry, I’ll leave soon. I don’t mean to hog the table.”

“Nah, no one is here. It’s not a big deal.”

“Sometimes I think you’re only nice to me because I’m your favorite customer.”

He snorts at that, taking another swig of his drink. “Sometimes I think yer the customer who is single-handedly keepin’ me in business.”

“It doesn’t sound very good if you say it like that,” you complain with a crinkle of your nose. 

“Don’t mean anythin’ bad by it. Besides, it makes me think my Tokyo branch might actually work.”

“Oh?” You perk up at that, sitting up straighter. “You’re opening a Tokyo branch?”

“Thinkin’ about it,” he admits, leaning against the table next to you. He is so close to you now and you can only see his strong thighs from your vantage point.  _ Don’t stare, don’t stare _ . “Need a little bit more money before I can do it.”

“Then let’s get you more money!” You chirp, tearing your eyes away from his legs before you can flush even more. 

“What, ya gonna start comin’ every day?” 

“ _ No _ ,” you emphasize by sticking your tongue out at him. “We can bring more customers here. I mean, you already have a lot, but we can get the word out even more. Do you have an Instagram for the store?”

He taps the bottle of tea against his lips and you take a breath, forcing away the image of where else you’d like those lips. 

“I do but I barely update it. Too busy, ya know?”

“I’ll do it,” you blurt before you can really think about it. 

“Do what?”

“Manage the store Instagram!” You smile. He gives you a raised eyebrow so you keep blabbering. “I got my undergrad degree in communications and I’ll have you know I have 400 Instagram followers myself, so I’m kind of a big deal.” Your joke makes you both laugh. “But I’m sure I can help you in some way. It’s the least I can do if I’m always here anyway.”

“Couldn’t let ya,” he shakes his head. “I can do it when I’m not lazy.”

“You’re not  _ lazy _ , you’re  _ busy _ ,” you frown. “You work here by yourself most of the time and I’m sure you’re tired from your long hours. Let me help you. I promise to do a good job. Or at least a decent enough job so you don’t fire me.”

Osamu thinks about it for a second before he grins, holding his hand out to you. “Deal.”

You shake on it, and the warmth of his touch sends your body into a frenzy. His hand is calloused, his grip strong, and you force yourself not to pout when he pulls his hand away. There will be plenty of more opportunities to touch him if you play your cards right. 

*

You spend the next few days surfing Instagram, checking out different popular food blogs and pages to see how they operate. Picture filters, angles, hashtags—you check on all of it, determined to make Osamu’s Insta just as good. When you wander into Onigiri Miya the day after with a few ideas, he greets you with a wide smile and a free spicy tuna onigiri.

“How did you know I was hungry?” You joke as you inhale it in record time. 

“Why else would ya be comin’ here?” 

His teasing earns a loud cough from you, the remaining rice sticking in your throat. You slap your chest a few times and assure him you’re fine once you swallow. There are plenty of other reasons for coming to Onigiri Miya, but you wouldn’t be caught dead saying them out loud. 

You tell him all about your research and you have him make a few of his more popular dishes so you can take pictures. You watch him while he does his work, captivated by how easy he makes everything seem. His salted and gloved hands dip into the water, roll the rice, pack the onigiri full of different fillings he prepared. You know making onigiri isn’t easy because you’ve tried it yourself, but it looks like he could do it in his sleep if he really tried hard enough.

You can’t help yourself; you take a picture from the side as he’s working. You can see the focus on his face, the angle of his sharp jawline, his strong arms as he molds the rice balls. Just a simple picture makes your heart go crazy in your chest and you have to set your phone down to keep from staring. He glances over at you curiously but keeps working until he’s all done with a few different flavors. 

“Okay, time to work some magic!” You announce after he carefully sets them on intricate china. You pull a ring light from your bag and set up a little space on a table, taking shot after shot to get the right angle to show off his work. He sticks by your side as you work as much as he can, but he’s busy himself, a stream of late afternoon customers keeping him on his toes. 

When you finally both have a break, he wanders over to see what you’ve taken. He’s so close to you like this; his chest presses into your side as he looks over your shoulder and it makes your breath catch. He’s so warm and sturdy that it’s making your head spin.

“That one is good I think,” he says as he points to one of the photos.

“Okay, then I’ll send you this one and you can upload them from your account.”

_ So slick _ , you compliment yourself as you hand your phone over to Osamu. Now you have his number, for completely professional reasons, of course. But still, you feel giddy as his fingers tap away at your screen and come back with “Handsome Chef Osamu Miya” under your contacts. 

“Handsome chef, really?”

“Did I lie?” he grins and makes you laugh.

Once the photo is sent and he starts to upload it, you move slightly closer and look over his shoulder. “Okay now we need a catchy tagline and some of the more popular tags.”

You talk about what you can upload back and forth and your cheeks warm when you realize he hasn’t moved or even told you to move. You’re pressed up close enough that his arm brushes against your chest whenever he moves, but you are definitely not complaining. You try not to look disappointed when everything is uploaded and he steps away, tucking his phone in his back pocket. 

“I guess I should start on my homework now,” you lament, sighing as you sit down at a table.

“Or ya could ignore that and talk to me instead. Up to you, o'course.”

How can you say no to such a handsome smile? 

*

The Instagram post works decently well. Osamu gets a handful of new followers and a bunch of comments saying they want to come visit. It leads to a few new customers and more posts that you work on together. 

“I think this time we should post a picture of you holding your onigiri. What do you think?” You ask him one day after his lunch rush settles down. Your class got canceled and you came directly to Onigiri Miya to discuss your idea. 

“What, me? Why?” Osamu raises an eyebrow as he takes his plastic gloves off. 

“You’re an attractive guy!” Your exclamation garners a snort. “I’m serious. You’re handsome and photogenic. I think it would be a perfect addition. Introduce yourself as the chef and people will come knocking!”

“Why do ya sound so excited?”

His joke makes you flush. Did you sound excited talking about how attractive you find him? You clear your throat to ward off the fluttering in your stomach. 

“I  _ don’t  _ sound excited,” you rush out. “ Anyway ,” you wrinkle your nose at him before you continue. “How about now?”

“Didn’t ya take one before? Use that one.”

You pause, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. The picture you took of him a few weeks ago is still on your phone, it’s true. And he’s not your boyfriend or anything like that, so yeah, you  _ could _ post it, but you don’t want to. That’s  _ your _ picture, as admittedly psycho as that sounds. It’s not like you stare at it for hours on end; in fact, you haven’t looked at it since you took it. It’s just that you don’t want others to see it. 

“No, that one was blurry,” you lie with confidence. “We should take one where you’re smiling and holding a plate. Or maybe sitting at the table. Either way, fix your hair.”

Osamu grumbles about bossy workers as he combs his fingers through his hair, but he luckily doesn’t press again. 

*

You were 100% correct in your earlier assessment. The picture of Osamu gets way more likes than any of the food, and it’s helped further by a comment from a certain famous volleyball player that shares the same face and last name. “I’m here for the onigiri, not pictures of your ugly face,” Atsumu had written, followed by a winking emoji. “Look in the mirror, ya dumbass,” Osamu had shot back, earning nearly as many likes as the picture itself. The banter had created a stir of comments that ranged from laughing emojis to “I didn’t know Atsumu had a twin!” comments.

“I have another idea!” You chirp as you swing your legs at the table. It’s nearly 8PM and business has just died down, leaving just the two of you in the store. 

“Maybe ya should be running the business, not me,” Osamu teases, sitting down across from you. 

“I’m not nearly attractive enough to garner that many likes on my photo,” you joke back, ready to move on to your genius plan, but Osamu beats you to speaking. 

“Not true, babe.”

_ Did… he just call me babe _ ? He looks as surprised as you do, his eyes widening slightly. It must have been a slip of the tongue but it still sends your heart rate skyrocketing and your cheeks aflame. 

“Thank you,” you hide your shy smile with a hand over your mouth before you change topics. “Anyway, how about a promotion? It’s almost November. On November 11th. 11/11, right? I know it’s Pocky Day, but you could do a sale. Buy One, Get One! You know, like 1+1. 11!”

“You’ve been thinkin’ about this, haven’t ya?” 

He smiles, pulling off his hat and playing with his hair. It takes everything in you not to stare at his muscular body. It isn’t fair that his work shirt is so tight and looks so good on him like that. He doesn’t know what he does to you. 

“Of course I have!”

“So does that mean you’ve been thinkin’ about me, too?”

He’s flirting with you. Oh God, he’s flirting with you. Your brain is in panic mode, unsure of how to answer. Should you play the game, shoot him something funny back? Should you wave it off and try to hide your crush further? Should you scream and run for the hills to try and make your anxiety go away?  _ Fuck it _ , your brain tells you. He called you babe after all, even if by accident. 

“I have.” Your admission falls from your lips easily. “You’re the handsome chef of my favorite restaurant after all.”

It’s Osamu’s turn to get slightly flustered. He tries to hide his smile behind some fingers that cover his lips, but you can still see it clearly.

“Alright, let’s talk about this sale.”

*

When you bound into the restaurant a few days later, you can’t keep the smile off of your face. You’re practically vibrating with excitement as you wait for the other customers to be served, and you nearly jump into Osamu’s arms when he comes over to ask what the heck is wrong with you. 

“Look!” 

You pull him closer to your laptop, pointing at the screen. On it is a picture you’d paid your artist friend to make (handsomely, since it was a rush job) for the store’s promotion. A little chibi Osamu sits on top of an onigiri, with little red cheeks and an Onigiri Miya hat on. The slogan “You only need Miya” in English is followed by the sale information in Japanese. 

“Ya only need Miya?” He questions in slight confusion. 

“You only need me… ya! It makes sense in English, I swear,” you promise, then glance back to the laptop. “Do you… like it? I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Ya know, I could have bought it myself as a business expense.”

“I know! I know, but I wanted to do something nice for you.” You lift his head to look him in the eye, a nervous smile on your face. “You always give me free food and let me bum around your restaurant after all.”

The cocked grin he returns makes your stomach do somersaults. There’s something different about his gaze this time. It’s softer, more calculating. You try not to read much into it, but it’s so hard when he grabs onto your upper arm and squeezes. 

“It’s perfect. I don’t know how to thank ya.”

“Dinner would be great.” You answer, thinking of the different kinds of onigiri you can con him into making for you. His spicy tuna is the best, but plum sounds really good, and— 

“Ya make it easy for a guy,” he laughs. “What kinda food do ya like then?”

Huh?  _ Huh _ ? You only meant onigiri from his store but you realize instantly that the way you said it could be misconstrued. He’s offering to take you out to dinner. If he wasn’t holding onto you, you think you might faint. 

“Oh, um, I eat almost anything really,” you answer, playing it off like you’re not actually freaking out inside. “I think an izakaya should be okay? We can order a ton of side dishes and try them all!”

“Yer gonna make a man fall in love with you if you ya talk like that.”

He laughs at his own joke and that’s when someone chooses to come through the door. He greets them and walks over to the cash register to take their order, and thank God he does, because you might  _ actually _ fall over now that your legs have turned to jelly. 

*

_ Handsome Chef Osamu Miya _ : get pretty today, we’re goin’ out 

You get the message in the middle of one of your lectures and it just about knocks you out of your seat. It’s hard to focus on what your professor is saying when thoughts of Osamu swirl in your mind instead. You’d figured the dinner would be after the sales event because he would be busy preparing, but it seems your favorite chef has different plans. You pull the phone under your desk and secretly shoot him a text back.

_ You _ : but am I not always pretty?  (^ω~) sure thing, boss

_ Handsome Chef Osamu Miya _ : i think yer just fishin’ for compliments now, pretty lady. see ya tonight 

One of your classmates asks you what’s got you smiling so much during one of your breaks, but you brush her off, saying it’s nothing. Once your lecture is over, you zoom out of the classroom, ideas of what to wear already floating through your head. 

*

The izakaya Osamu takes you to is so romantic, at least in your humble opinion. The lighting is dim and the tables are mostly for two people rather than large groups. The wine menu is extensive and food even more varied. You feel like you’re about to burst with the butterflies in your stomach and veins, especially with how good Osamu looks. 

You’ve never seen him in more than his work outfit, but tonight he’s dressed casually in a striped sweater over a collared shirt and some jeans. You didn’t plan it, but it matches the striped wrap dress and leggings you have on. You truly look like a couple and it makes your hands jittery. 

Osamu orders nearly one of everything on the menu, along with wine that you happily gulp down to calm your nerves. You can easily talk to him while you’re at the shop, but even if the word date hasn’t been explicitly said, that’s exactly what this is. It makes you much too nervous to function correctly. Especially with the way his eyes begin to drink you in after you both polish off your second glasses of wine.

Time flies by as you talk about his store, your future plans, old memories. Both of your cheeks are flushed from the alcohol, and you’re both laughing at stories that admittedly aren’t that funny. But the crazy thing is, being with Osamu makes everything so much funnier. The way he bounces off your jokes, the way he adds a sly comment to the conversation. You don’t want to go home, but when the wine is gone and you can’t possibly eat anymore, you both decide to call it a night.

He walks you back to your cozy apartment, standing so close that his arm brushes against yours. You’re both a bit unsteady on your feet, and you have to grab each other’s shoulders a few times to keep from falling over. In your hazy mind, the logical thing is to squeeze his upper arm and feel the solid muscles he has there. He does the same for you, his fingers lingering on your wrist much too long to be only for help. 

He walks you to your door and lingers outside as you fetch your keys from your little purse.

“Thank you for buying dinner. I’ll buy next time for sure.”

“Next time, eh?” 

Osamu’s wicked grin sends shivers down your spine. You bat your eyelashes at him, trying to look cute (though you’re sure it’s probably the opposite.) The filter you usually have is broken by one too many glasses of wine.

“Are you saying you don’t want to go on another date with your favorite customer?”

“Only if she wants to go out with her favorite chef again.”

“Oh, she wants  _ much  _ more than that.”

Was that too far? Osamu’s bloodshot eyes widen slightly as he stares down at you, and you swallow down the nervousness that has a tight grip on your throat. He looms so close to you and takes one step closer, shadows hiding half of his face. If he reaches out now, he could trap you between the door and his body, just like those dramas you like to watch on the weekends.

He reaches out and lightly runs a finger down your cheek, and your lips part without you thinking. 

“ _ Osamu _ .”

It takes you a second to realize you’ve never said his first name before. He’s always been Miya-san or handsome chef if you had to call him anything. Osamu is standing so close to you now that you can feel the heat of his breath on your face, smell the alcohol on his tongue. 

“Fuck it,” he mutters and closes the distance. 

His lips on yours feel so much better than you ever could have imagined. They’re warm and strangely soft, and fit perfectly against yours. He presses you into the door as he cups your cheek, the warmth of his chest pressed close to you, and you dig your fingers into his shoulders. He pulls back to take a quick breath before he kisses you again, this time with more urgency. A little nibble to your bottom lip and you part your lips for him, letting his tongue slide into your mouth. Your tongues tangle together lazily as he parts your legs with a firm knee.

You don’t realize you’re grinding against his thigh until he groans, fingers buried deep in your hair to keep you close. Your head is spinning, light-headed with the mix of alcohol and Osamu’s musky scent. If he wasn’t holding you up with his leg, you’re sure you’d be in a puddle on the ground.

You pull back for air and mewl, “Osamu, wait.”

“'S the matter, babe?”

Ugh, if he keeps calling you that pet name, you’ll never be able to let him leave.

“We’re both drunk, we should stop.”

He takes a breath and reluctantly slides away, nodding a few times. “Yer right, yer right. Sorry.”

“Don’t you  _ dare  _ apologize,” you pout, tapping his reddened nose with your pointer finger. “I just want to remember every bit of you when you come back.”

If smiles could kill, you’d be dead right now thanks to the absolutely dazzling one he shoots you right now.

*

November 11th. Osamu hasn’t messaged you all day and you haven’t seen him since the date when he’d left you with a simple peck on the lips. You know it was for the best to stop at the point, but your mind has been running wild ever since. Thoughts of Osamu above you, below you, inside of you. You’re glad for the extra work you had to finish yesterday so you could give yourself time to sort out your lecherous thoughts and act normal around him again. 

When your class finishes, you hurry over to Onigiri Miya but pause outside the door. The restaurant is absolutely  _ slammed _ . From what you can see, every table is taken and there’s a short line at the cash register. You can only see Osamu inside—did he not ask his part-time worker to help? 

You fix your bag on your shoulder and practically run to the convenience store next door, grabbing as many juices and milk teas as your arms can handle. Once they’re bought, you bound over to Onigiri Miya and fling open the door. 

“Osamu, hi, sorry I’m late!” You call as you set your things down near the cash register. 

He looks up and his body visibly relaxes at the sight of you. The poor guy looks absolutely  stressed , but that’s what you’re here for. 

You take new orders, deliver finished orders, include a free milk tea or juice for the wait. When customers leave, you clean the tables and throw away their garbage, directing others to sit down when you’re done. It’s easy enough work—you’ve spent months watching Osamu do the same customer service, so it doesn’t feel awkward to be repeating it yourself. 

It goes like that for a few hours. You make a few trips back to the convenience store, this time with the Onigiri Miya credit card, so that everyone gets a drink for their wait. In the end, Osamu has to close an hour early because he’s all out of fillings for a majority of his flavors. You practically collapse at one of the tables as he locks up, turning the sign from open to close with a heavy sigh.

“Didn’t expect all that,” he smiles as he rolls his shoulders. “Can’t say I’m complainin’ though.”

“I am!” You huff, wiggling your feet in your slightly heeled shoes. “How do you do this every day? I’m so tired.”

“Ya know, I wouldn’t have been able to have done it without ya. Actually, I got a present for ya.”

You perk up at that. “A present? What kind?”

“Come with me.”

He takes you to the back of his restaurant where his larger appliances sit. You’ve never been back here before so you take the time to look around while he fishes in the refrigerator for something. There’s an empty silver table in the middle of the room, two large rice cookers on a table against the wall, and tons of food on the shelving. Attached to the kitchen area is a tiny little office. You peek your head inside the room and see that it barely has room for a computer, computer chair, and loveseat against the wall.

“I sleep there sometimes,” he explains. The suddenness and closeness of his voice makes you yelp and he chuckles. “Sorry, did I scare ya? Here.”

He hands you a plastic bag and you peek into it. Inside is a tied up box sporting the name of a local mochi shop that you mentioned you wanted to try at during your date. The gesture makes your heart flutter and you look up at him with bright eyes.

“You remembered?”

“Course I did.”

“You’re gonna make a girl fall in love with you if you do things like that,” you tease, shooting his old words back at him. His response just about makes your heart stop.

“Good, ‘cause that’s what I want.”

You aren’t sure your eyes can get any wider, if your heart can go any crazier. You had nursed your crush on him in secret, sure he wouldn’t reciprocate your feelings, yet he is plainly telling you the exact opposite. You don’t know what else to do but laugh breathlessly. Now’s the time to be bold. He’s given you an opportunity; you’d be a fool not to take it.

“Say I’m already halfway there. What then?”

He takes a step closer, just like he did two nights ago outside of your apartment. Only this time, you’re both completely sober and alone in his closed up shop. If he reaches out and kisses you like before, there’s no way you’re telling him to stop.

“Then I’d make ya mine,” he murmurs lowly, voice laced with a deeper intent that makes you shiver.

“Go ahead,” you whisper back, setting the plastic bag of mochi on the ground near your feet. “I’ve already been yours from the beginning.”

The tilt of his lips is barely visible before he leans forward and kisses you again. Warmth blooms from your stomach and spreads to every inch of your body as his lips move against yours, overwhelming your senses. Once his tongue meets yours again, you shift closer, bunching your fingers in his work shirt. You don’t realize he’s pushing you back into the office until you run into the desk with the back of your thighs. Osamu looms over you, one of his strong hands cupping your neck, the other trailing down your side as he pulls you close.

You mewl when he tears himself away from you and begins to work his way down the side of your neck with hot kisses and licks. Your shift your legs open more so he can slide between them, your already aching core grinding into his bulge. He hisses against your skin, biting into the crook of your neck, hand grabbing your hips and forcing them flush against his. 

“Wanted to take my time with ya,” he breathes against your covered shoulder. His fingers are already working to unbutton the jeans you have on. “But I don’t think I can right now, babe.”

“Want you,” you murmur back. You don’t want to take your time; there’s plenty of time for that later. Right now, you want to feel him against you, feel his dick inside of you as he thrusts into you and makes you scream.

“‘S what I like to hear,” he grins and helps you wiggle out of your pants and underwear at the same time. 

He pulls back enough to admire the naked lower half of your body and you should probably feel embarrassed, but you don’t. Not when you’ve wanted him for so long and he’s giving you exactly what you need. You part your legs for him even more and tilt your head in a silent invitation to come closer again. He glances up at you with a grin before he sinks down onto his knees, arms locking around your thighs to pull your throbbing pussy straight to his face.

He flattens his tongue against your folds before his fingers pry them open so he can dip inside. You move your hips to meet his mouth with a groan, but he holds you tight with his hand on your hip, his tongue flicking inside of you. You can feel it deep within you, running along your walls, slurping up the wetness. When he trails higher and flicks over your clit, you moan and tug off his cap, threading your fingers through his hair. 

His mouth is relentless on your nub, rolling it with his tongue, sucking and tugging with his lips. He inches a finger inside of you and lazily thrusts it in and out. When he takes his mouth off of you, you whine at the loss.

“Yer so tight,” he breathes, the hot air on your wet pussy making you shiver. “Gonna feel so good around my cock.”

“Want your cock now, Osamu,” you groan, tugging on his hair to get him to give you what you want most.

“Gotta be a good girl an’ cum for me first,” he teases before his mouth is on your pussy again.

A second finger joins his first, the squelching in your pussy mixing with your gasps and mewls. His tongue moves even faster, flicking over your swollen nub and making you clench around his fingers. He curls his digits just right and hot pleasure explodes through your body; you call out his name, begging him to do it again. Your orgasm is so close; all you need is a bit more—

It’s the deep groan he sends into your pussy that makes you tumble over the edge. You jerk off the desk as your body quivers uncontrollably from the overwhelming pleasure running through your veins. You bite down on your finger to keep from screaming, but it can’t stop the muffled moans and whimpers from slipping past your lips. Your legs are still shaking when Osamu stands back up and claims your lips again. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it sends another jolt straight to your still throbbing cunt.

“Come ‘ere,” he nearly growls against your lips, tugging you away from the desk and over to the couch. If he didn’t have a hand on your arm, you’re sure you’d have fallen over thanks to the weakness in your legs.

Osamu takes a seat on the couch and hastily tugs down his pants and underwear. The sight of his cock makes your mouth go dry. He pumps it a few times and you’re mesmerized by how long he is when he stands fully erect.

“I should—” you start to say, but he cuts you off.

“Need to be in that pussy, babe.” He holds a hand out for you to take, and when you do, he tugs you harshly down to his lap. 

You squeak and steady yourself with a hand on the back of the couch, straddling him so that his cock brushes over your swollen folds. You both groan when he pushes the tip inside of you, and you can tell he is trying to be gentle as he shallowly thrusts a few times to work his way inside. But it’s not fast enough for you and you lift your hips slightly before sitting down completely. His length buries itself completely inside of you, making you groan at how deep he hits like this.

“Feels good,” you slur before lifting your hips and moving back down again. He helps you ride him with firm hands on your ass, his fingernails digging deep into your flesh. The pace you both set is fast from the start; months of pining over him has led to this moment and all you want is to feel his cum deep within you when he finally makes you his.

Your fingers move under his shirt and scratch along his chest, pawing at his muscles. He groans into your shoulder, lips pressing messy kisses along the column of your neck as he opens his legs a bit further and thrusts up to meet you. You cry out when he hits your cervix, your hands grabbing hold of his shoulders to move faster. Your legs and lungs burn with the effort but you want him to hit that place that makes you see stars again.

His fingers trail down your stomach before his thumb reaches your clit again, and you jerk closer to him. You yank his hair back so you can mesh your lips together again in a messy meeting of tongues and teeth. That familiar heat burns in your stomach, making your body shake and your walls clench around his cock as Osamu works his thumb faster.

“Close, babe,” he gasps against your lips. He looks so fucking good like this, pupils blown wide from lust, sweat on his temples, lips open as he pants for breath.

“Inside, please ‘Samu, wanna feel you.”

Your begging must be what sends him over the edge. With a loud “fuck!”, his hips stutter and you feel his dick pulse within you, hot ropes of cum painting your insides. Though he rides out his orgasm, his fingers never stop playing with your clit; a few more rubs and you’re joining him, mewls of his name leaving your lips as you shudder against him. 

You can barely catch your breath as you lean your forehead on his shoulder. You’re sore but relaxed, and you squirm closer to him as he runs a lazy hand up and down your covered spine. You’re so content and  _ full  _ like this that it makes you smile.

“Ya know, I really like ya,” he laughs awkwardly. “But I sure hope yer on birth control ‘cause I'm not exactly ready for a kid yet.”

“And you think I am?” You joke, nipping at a few sweat beads that fall down the side of his neck. “I am, but if you’re so worried about it, maybe you should buy some condoms for next time.”

“Next time?” 

You can hear the grin in his voice as he shifts his hips again, and you can feel him pulse within you. He lazily thrusts into a few more times and he’s already half-hard again when he says, “How ‘bout next  _ next  _ time? ‘Cause I’m ready for next time right now.”

*

Being Osamu Miya’s girlfriend is better than you ever could have dreamed. Time passes by so quickly, filled with happiness, laughs, and plenty of onigiri. You continue helping at the store whenever he needs it, keep helping with his Instagram and sudden popularity after a few news and newspaper interviews that put his name on the map.

The Tokyo store becomes a reality the next year, and when he goes and comes back two months later, you practically fling yourself into his arms as soon as he walks into Onigiri Miya. You’re met with kisses and hugs so tight you can’t breathe; there’s a smile on his face so bright that it makes you smile too.

“How did it go?”

“Everything’s perfect. Already got steady business and good people takin’ care of it.”

“Are you… going to move to Tokyo then?”

Your question is met with a raised eyebrow. “Now why would I do that when I got ya waitin’ here for me?”

“I love you,” you blurt out. Your fingers tighten on his arms, your face flushed red. It’s not  _ exactly  _ how you wanted to say it for the first time, but now that it’s out, you can’t take it back. “I… well, yeah. I love you, Osamu.”

“I don’t think ya know how long I’ve been waitin’ to hear that,” he responds before he kisses you again, whispering  _ I love ya, too _ through continuous pecks.

You say it plenty more times as time rolls on. A few months, then a year, then beyond. Osamu goes to Tokyo a few times to check on his second store, but he always comes back to your waiting arms a few days later. It’s crazy how you fall in love with him even more as time passes, but he makes it so easy. Beneath his grins and his jokes is a passion for food and life that makes you want to be just as hard-working and successful. He drives you to be better, to strive for greater things. So that’s what you do with your last semester of school. You want to be the partner someone like Osamu deserves—someone just as passionate as him.

When you bound into Onigiri Miya on a hot August day, you immediately throw your arms around him, nearly knocking him over with the force.

“Okay babe, what are ya doin’?”

“I have good news!!”

“What is it?”

“My thesis was accepted. I’m going to graduate next week!”

Your excited squeal makes him smile and he pats the top of your head before giving you a kiss. “Actually, been meanin’ to talk about that. Do you think you uh… maybe wanna come work with me after school is done? There’s always a job for ya here.”

Work with him? You blink in surprise, your mouth falling open, before you burst into a fit of giggles. “That’s so thoughtful ‘Samu, but I can’t.”

“Ya can’t?” His face falls slightly. “But... that means ya gotta go back home.”

“Not if I found a job already!” You poke his chest a few times in your excitement. “You’re looking at the new communications director at Costco Izumi! The work I did on a certain handsome chef’s Instagram impressed the right people. I wanted it to be a surprise, I was going to tell you tonight, but—”

He cuts you off by crushing you to his chest, and you squeak at how tight his arms are holding you. You can hear his heart thundering in his ribcage and feel the tension leave his body as soon as you hug him back. Was he worried that you were going to leave him after school finished? Is he that much of an idiot to think you’d  _ ever  _ leave him?

“Love ya,” he murmurs into your hair as he rocks you back and forth, pressing kisses to the top of your head. "Proud of ya."

Onigiri Miya may have become a second home to you all those years ago, but it’s much more than that now. 

Home is where strong arms wrap around you and don't let you go. Home is where love is whispered into the crown of your head for only you to hear. Home is where warmth blooms in your chest every time you see your one and only handsome chef.

Home is where Osamu Miya is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter might put me at 100K words total... wild to think about!! i'm thinking kenma, but it might be tendou or atsumu. who knows!


End file.
